TON  BRISCOE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JIMTY 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 


MARGARET  SUTTON  BRISCOE 

ILLUSTRATED   BY 
W.  T.  SMEDLEY  AND  A.  B.  FROST 


NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1808 


Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  resen-td. 


PS 

1111 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

JlMTY I 

THE  PRICE  OF  PEACE 51 

AN  ECHO 80 

THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 98 

CONCEALED  WEAPONS  .     .     . 133 

ANNIE  TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 155 

PRINCESS  I-WouLD-I-WoT-NoT 182 

IT  is  THE  CUSTOM 201 

SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 247 

A  GOOSE-CHASE 278 

AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 292 

THE  QUARTER  LOAF 308 


1694353 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


JIMTY Frontispiece 

MONSIEUR   LE   MART Facing  page       2 

MADAME   THE   PROPRIETRESS "          "         IO 

"  'THUS  IT  WAS  THAT  i  HEARD  THE  MA 
JOR'S  STORY'" .  "  "  22 

"  'MR.  STONE  IS  NOW  A  SEMI-PROFESSIONAL 

RACONTEUR'" "  "48 

"  '  THEY  SAY  EF  YOU  COMBS  YER  HADE  AT 

NIGHTS,  YOU  FERGITS  '  "  .....  "  "  168 

"'ALL  DECENTLY  CLOTHED'" "       "    288 

IN  THE  GARDEN  PATCH "       "     2Q2 


JIMTY,   AND   OTHERS 


JIMTY 

"  BUT,  Major,"  I  whispered,  "  why  is  the 
bridegroom  wearing  an  old  coat  ?  That  cut  is 
out  of  date." 

The  Major's  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  wondered  if 
you  would  notice  it,"  he  replied.  "  It's  what  I 
brought  you  here  to  see.  If  you  will  go  to 
luncheon  with  me  wherever  I  choose  to  take 
you  directly  the  wedding  is  over,  I'll  tell  you 
the  story  of  that  coat." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Major  and  I  were  sit 
ting  together  at  a  little  table  in  a  small  cafe 
within  the  borders  of  that  quarter  of  our  city 
known  as  Bohemia.  The  cafe  was  Parisian,  un 
mistakably,  from  the  door-sill,  on  which  a  thin 
layer  of  white  sand  was  spread  in  lieu  of  a  mat, 
to  the  back  of  the  room,  where,  perched  on  a 
dais  fenced  off  like  a  proscenium-box,  madame 
the  proprietress  presided — behind  her,  a  set  of 
narrow  shelves  holding  tier  after  tier  of  multi- 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

hued  bottles  ;  before  her,  a  row  of  neat  glass- 
cases  exhibiting  different  brands  of  cigars,  va 
rious  cheeses,  or  tasteful  plates  of  arranged 
fruits,  comfits,  and  moulded  jellies.  Monsieur 
le  mari  was  absorbed  in  tending  the  foliage- 
plants  of  his  show-window  as  we  entered  his 
establishment.  He  was  turning  the  earth  with 
a  hair-pin,  evidently  borrowed  from  madame, 
and  looked  up  to  gravely  bow  to  the  Major, 
not  removing  his  little  black  silk  skull  -  cap. 
Later,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  broad  back, 
he  wandered  with  apparent  indifference  about 
the  room,  chirping  occasionally  to  the  caged 
canaries  that  hung  high  among  the  green  vines 
trained  to  grow  upon  the  walls.  Madame 
bowed  to  the  Major  also,  with  the  same  grave 
respect,  and  the  Major  called  the  waiter  by  his 
Christian  name  as  he  hurried  forward  to  meet 
us  and  take  our  order.  Evidently  he  was  at 
home.  "  Just  glance  about  you,"  said  the  Major, 
with  a  certain  proprietary  pride.  "  It  is  easy 
enough  to  understand  how  in  a  great  cosmopo- 
lis  like  this  we  have  only  to  walk  a  block  and 
turn  a  corner  to  travel  from  Jerusalem  to  Bag 
dad,  but  I  have  never  known  the  very  aroma 
of  an  imported  country  so  perfectly  preserved 
as  in  this  little  cafe.  Those  art  students  over 
there,  for  instance — aren't  they  having  a  good, 
innocent,  Parisian  kind  of  a  time  ?" 

I  looked  across  the  room  through  the  thin 
blue  mist  of  cigarette  and  cigar  smoke.     The 


•*&>    ••••••••  ••- 

;         <;  fo 


MONSIEUR   LE   MAKI 


JIMTY 

ventilation  was  good,  so  the  air  was  only  cloud 
ed,  not  heavy.  From  her  box  madarne  was 
smiling  her  reserved  smile  upon  a  party  of 
young  men  who  had  just  entered  and  were 
rather  noisily  improvising  a  banquet-board  in 
the  centre  of  the  floor  by  setting  a  number  of 
the  little  wooden  tables  which  the  cafe  afforded 
side  by  side  in  a  row.  As  loudly  greeted  addi 
tions  to  the  party  came  dropping  in,  more 
tables  were  drawn  up,  until  the  board  waxed 
long  and  the  mirth  high. 

"  Now  you  and  I,"  said  the  Major,  "  old 
stagers  as  we  are,  know  just  how  much  or  how 
little  all  this  means.  We  know  those  perhaps  too 
loudly  called  for,  dissipated-looking  little  pint 
bottles  contain  pink  water  and  sugar  chiefly  ; 
and  we  know,  too,  that  the  young  fellow  over 
yonder  smoking  three  cigarettes  at  once,  one 
in  each  ear  and  one  in  his  mouth,  is  but  an  in 
nocent  party  buffoon,  and  not  in  the  least  tipsy. 
Indeed,  I  never  saw  but  one  tipsy  fellow  here 
in  all  my  experiences,  and  madame  pounced 
down  upon  him  from  her  perch  like  a  ruffled 
dove.  '  Qu'est  ce  que  c'est  ?  Qu'est  ce  que 
c'est?'  I  had  thought  her  a  fixture  up  there, 
somehow,  until  that  moment.  You  and  I  know 
all  this.  We  even  understand  this  grim  little 
fine  for  the  water-drinker.  See  it  ?"  And  the 
Major  passed  me  the  carte,  set  in  a  wooden 
frame  with  a  handle  like  a  looking-glass,  his 
finger  on  these  words  at  the  head  of  the  menu  : 
3 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"5  c.  en  plus  pour  tout  diner  sans  vin  ou  biere." 
"  Cheaper  to  drink  thajn  to  abstain,  you  com 
prehend  ?  Of  course  we  comprehend  it  all ;  but 
fancy  a  green  country  boy,  born  since  the  days 
when  his  father's  cellarette  adorned  the  dining- 
room,  looking  in  on  such  a  scene  for  the  first 
time,  and  you  have  an  idea  of  what  Jimty's  ex 
pression  must  have  been  when  one  day,  about 
eighteen  months  ago,  sitting  at  this  very  table, 
I  looked  up  to  see  him  standing  rooted  in  that 
doorway." 

The  Major  cast  a  reminiscent  eye  at  the  cafe 
entrance,  and  paused  for  a  moment  to  openly 
overhear  and  as  openly  laugh  over  a  story 
which  was  being  told  at  the  banquet  -  table 
by  the  triple  smoker  :  some  nonsense  about  a 
farm  belonging  to  the  narrator's  uncle,  where 
there  were  three  hundred  cows  at  pasture — 
"all  girls." 

The  Major  indicated  the  noisy  banqueters 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  There  was  much  the 
same  order  of  party  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
the  day  Jimty  arrived,"  he  said,  "only  more 
noisy  if  anything ;  and,  as  it  happened,  one  of 
the  number  had  just  told  a  stale  story,  so  the 
rest  were  stoning  him  to  death — with  bread- 
crusts — as  the  door  opened.  I  think  the  boy  be 
lieved  he  had  stumbled  into  a  den  of  iniquity, 
until  he  saw  me  sitting  here  laughing." 

The  Major  laughed  again  at  the  recollec 
tion. 

4 


JIMTY 

"  Are  Jimty — if  that  is  the  name — and  the 
bridegroom  one  and  the  same  man  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  Jimty  !  I 
suppose  the  name  strikes  you  as  odd.  It  did 
me  when  I  first  heard  it.  Later  I  understood 
that  it  was  but  a  natural  evolution.  James 
Tarleton  Stone  was  the  family  name,  so  when 
it  descended  to  my  young  friend,  every  distin 
guishing  abbreviation  had  been  previously  en 
gaged.  He  was  therefore  given  the  whole  title, 
James  Tarleton,  which  speedily  degenerated 
into  James  T.,  then  Jimmy  T.,  lastly  boiling 
down  to  Jimty.  I  learned  all  that  over  this 
same  table,  partly  from  Jimty,  partly  from  his 
father ;  and  over  this  board,  too,  old  Mr.  Stone 
first  told  his  now  historic  anecdote  of  the  Glass 
Snakes  and  Transparent  Mocking  -  Birds.  I 
don't  believe  I  could  properly  sing  you  the 
song  of  Jimty  and  his  coat  outside  of  this 
room,  for  everything  here  recalls  to  me  some 
incident  connected  with  him.  And  yet  here 
comes  our  luncheon  before  I  have  so  much  as 
begun.  Well,  you  must  let  me  digress  my  own 
way,  and  I'll  sandwich  the  coat  and  Jimty  in 
somehow  between  the  courses." 

Thus  it  was  that  while  eating  a  luncheon, 
which  included  snails,  and  drinking  a  bottle  of 
the  red  wine  so  affectionately  jeered  at  by  my 
host,  I  heard  the  Major's  story. 

"  I  can't  very  well  even  now,"  said  the  Major, 
"  touch  at  once  on  the  coat ;  for  the  first  time 
5 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

I  ever  saw  the  boy  he  was  not  only  minus  that 
garment,  but  every  other  as  well,  naked  as  the 
day  he  came  into  the  world,  which  statement 
requires  as  immediate  an  explanation  as  pos 
sible. 

"One  spring  season  about  two  years  ago  it 
happened  that  I  was  on  a  business  trip  in  Vir 
ginia,  and  found  that  I  had  to  make  a  stage  of 
my  journey  by  a  steamer  already  overcrowded 
with  a  large  country  excursion  party.  Luckily 
for  me,  as  it  chanced,  I  hate  a  crush  above  all 
things,  so  I  stood  a  little  aloof  from  the  press 
of  passengers  crowding  out  on  the  pier.  Sud 
denly,  with  no  warning  whatever,  I  saw  that 
mass  of  human  beings  irresistibly  shelved  to 
one  side,  and  I  found  myself  borne  back  and 
down  in  a  wild  rush  for  the  shore.  I  suppose 
my  senses  were  crushed  out  of  me,  for  I  saw 
and  heard  nothing  more  after  that  until  I  real 
ized  that  I  was  leaning  against  a  pile  of  lumber 
on  the  land,  unhurt.  Some  one — I  never  knew 
who — had  dragged  me  out  of  the  metie.  My 
first  conscious  thought  was  that  I  had  surely 
died,  and  waked  among  the  sounds  of  Hades. 
As  I  opened  my  eyes  I  saw  only  too  clearly 
what  had  happened,  but  —  well,  I  won't  dwell 
on  the  appearance  of  the  broken  pier  and  dis 
turbed  water.  The  sight  matched  the  hearing 
enough  to  unman  me.  I  closed  my  lids  again 
involuntarily,  still  faint  and  sick  with  the  hor 
ror.  At  that  moment  the  confusion  of  noises 
6 


JIMTY 

seemed  to  focus  into  a  boyish  voice  near  me. 
Even  then  I  noticed  the  peculiar  freshness  of 
its  quality. 

" '  Father,'  it  cried,  '  shall  I  strip  before  the 
women  and  children  ?' 

"  An  older  voice  answered  like  bugle  to  bu 
gle  : 

"  '  Strip,  man,  strip,  and  go  in  as  God  made 
you.' 

"  I  looked  up  to  see  standing  quite  near  me 
the  most  magnificent  specimen  of  young  man 
hood  I  ever  beheld.  I  believe  you  thought 
Jimty  as  bridegroom  handsome  as  a  man  need 
be,  but  to-day  he  was  a  circumstance  to  the 
Jimty  I  first  saw  as  God  made  him — body  and 
soul ;  for  if  ever  a  man's  soul  was  in  his  face, 
it  was  in  that  boy's  as  he  leaped  by  me,  stark 
naked,  into  the  water.  It  brought  me  to  my 
feet,  and  out  into  the  water  after  him  I  went 
— only  to  my  neck,  for  I  can't  swim  a  stroke. 

"  The  boy's  father  and  I  worked  side  by 
side.  We  two  old  fellows  had  all  we  could  do 
to  drag  ashore  the  bodies,  alive  and  dead — we 
could  not  stop  to  distinguish  —  that  Jimty 
brought  us. 

"  I  thought  we  were  laboring  there  for  hours. 
It  seemed  so,  though  it  must  have  been  min 
utes  only.  Each  time  the  boy  dragged  to  us 
a  new  burden  and  swam  undauntedly  back 
into  the  horrible  confusion  of  struggling  forms 
I  never  expected  to  see  him  return. 
7 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  They  say  misery  makes  strange  bedfel 
lows,  but  peril  surely  makes  bed  -  brothers  of 
strangers.  I  don't  believe  the  father  suffered 
much  more  anxiety  than  I  in  those  moments 
of  waiting.  Over  and  over  I  heard  him  mur 
muring  in  my  ear :  '  The  boy  sha'n't  go  out 
again.'  'He  has  done  enough.'  'This  is  the 
last.'  And  I  would  answer,  '  Yes,  this  time  we 
will  stop  him.'  But  whenever  Jimty  neared 
us  nothing  of  the  kind  was  ever  said.  There 
was  something  sacred  in  the  remote  purpose 
of  his  face  that  no  man— even  a  father — could 
venture  to  question.  We  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  straining  our  old  eyes  to  distinguish 
the  one  white  body  weaving  its  dangerous  way 
among  the  dark  ones.  To  many  of  them  he 
must  have  come  as  a  white-robed  angel  of  de 
liverance. 

"  The  boy's  strength  lay  in  his  nakedness. 
With  strong  men,  as  there  were,  drowning  all 
about  him,  clutching  at  straws  in  the  fear  of 
death,  the  fact  that  he  had  his  body  alone  to 
protect  from  their  grasp  was  everything. 

"At  last,  after  a  long  space  of  waiting,  in 
which  I  fairly  gave  up  hope,  we  distinguished 
Jimty,  far  off  on  the  water's  surface,  springing 
high  like  a  tired  water  -  dog,  and  with  each 
stroke  shaking  the  drops  from  his  eyes.  He 
was  panting  heavily,  with  evident  difficulty 
dragging  in  his  load.  It  was  the  body  of  a 
woman.  We  waded  out  to  meet  him  as  far  as 
8 


JIMTY 

we  dared  ;  but  as  the  boy's  feet  touched  the 
shallower  bottom  he  shifted  his  burden  into 
his  arms,  wading  ashore  past  us  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  us.  We  hurried  ashore  also,  to  find 
him  already  working  hard  over  the  body,  which 
he  had  laid  on  a  tablelike  board  of  the  lumber- 
pile.  I  touched  his  bare  arm,  and  he  turned 
sharply,  asserting — as  a  man  asserts  what  he 
only  half  believes — that  the  woman  must  still 
be  alive,  for  she  had  spoken  to  him  twice  on 
the  way  in. 

"  '  No,'  said  his  father,  after  a  brief  examina 
tion  ;  '  she  is  quite  dead  now,  poor  child.' 

"As  I  looked  at  the  face  of  the  young  girl 
laid  out  there  as  if  for  her  last  rest,  I  also  be* 
lieved  that  she  had  found  it.  So  many  all  about 
us  were  in  need  of  immediate  attention  that  it 
seemed  a  waste  of  precious  moments  to  spend 
them  on  this  hopeless  case  ;  but  Jimty  insist 
ing  in  his  belief,  we  worked  over  the  senseless 
body,  pressing  air  into  the  passive  lungs — in 
fact,  doing  all  that  our  inexperience  knew  to 
call  back  life — until  an  almost  imperceptible 
quivering  of  the  muscles,  proving  the  boy  right, 
made  us  redouble  our  efforts.  At  last  the  girl's 
eyelids  began  to  flutter,  and  Jimty,  in  great 
excitement,  caught  up  his  coat  from  among 
his  little  heap  of  clothing  still  lying  by  the 
lumber-pile.  He  was  wrapping  the  girl  care 
fully  in  the  coat's  folds,  when  his  father  grasp 
ed  his  arm. 

9 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

' '  Stand  back,  boy,'  he  said  ;  '  she's  coming 
to,  and  you'll  frighten  her  to  death.  This  isn't 
the  Garden  of  Eden.  You'd  better  put  a  coat 
on  yourself,  or  hide  in  the  bushes,  as  your  bet 
ters  did  before  you.' 

"Jimty  started  back  with  an  exclamation, 
which  proved  that  he  had  as  wholly  forgotten 
his  body's  nakedness  as  he  had  its  peril  a  short 
while  before.  He  snatched  up  his  clothing, 
and,  just  as  the  girl  opened  her  eyes,  vanished 
so  swiftly  around  the  end  of  the  lumber-pile 
that  his  father  and  I  burst  out  laughing  —  a 
jangled  kind  of  laughter.  Did  you  ever  hear 
men  laughing  after  a  heavy  strain  ?  It's  not 
a  pretty  sound.  It  seems  to  jar  loosely  from 
the  lips  somehow,  because  it  has  no  root  in 
the  heart,  I  suppose." 

The  Major's  story  waited  while  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  pocket  and  drew  out  the  coppers 
necessary  for  the  purchase  of  a  newspaper 
presented  by  a  tattered,  bareheaded,  black - 
eyed  little  fellow,  who  had  entered  the  cafe 
noiselessly,  slipping  from  table  to  table.  He, 
too,  was  evidently  an  habitut ' ;  for  all  those 
whom  he  drew  near,  with  his  half -sly,  half- 
frightened  smile,  had  a  humorous  or  teasing 
word  to  throw  him,  whether  they  bought  or 
not. 

I,  the  Major's  guest,  began  to  feel  myself 
the  only  unknown  quantity  in  those  four  walls. 
The  Major  was  evidently  a  regular  customer, 


MADAME   THE   PROPRIETRESS 


JIMTY 

for  without  question  the  boy  stood  waiting,  a 
paper  ready  in  his  grimy  hand. 

"  Italian,  isn't  he  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  Major  answered.  "  Ask 
him." 

"  Who — I  ?  No,  no.  My  mova  she  Amer- 
icaine.  My  faver  ?  Ho  !  I  don'  know." 

A  shrug,  a  quick,  impish  glance  of  intelli 
gence,  conveyed  but  one  meaning,  which  was 
to  his  weird  precocity  as  a  neat  little  jest  of 
life  upon  himself,  and  perhaps  upon  his  mother 
also. 

"  Here,"  said  the  Major,  "take  your  money, 
gamin,  and  go.  Good  Lord,  what  a  travesty 
on  childhood  !  And  yet,  do  you  know,  even 
precocity  like  that  has  its  uses,  as  Jimty  and  I 
learned.  That  little  fellow's  shrewdness  once 
saved  us  a  world  of  trouble.  I  don't  mean  it 
was  worth  the  price,  though.  Poor  little  imp  !" 

He  looked  thoughtfully  after  the  child  of  the 
pavements. 

"  Major,"  I  said,  recalling  him,  "  is  that  all  ? 
Of  course,  as  an  old  novel-reader,  I  know  the 
coat  and  the  rescued  girl  are  the  same  coat 
and  the  same  girl  I  saw  with  Jimty  to-day,  but 
am  I  also  to  fill  in  the  time  from  then  to  now 
from  my  own  imagination  ?" 

The  Major  shook  his  head  and  laughed. 

"  You  couldn't  do  that,  for  old  Mr.  Stone  oc 
cupies  a  large  part  of  the  space,  and  I  defy  any 
imagination  less  fertile  than  Madame  Nature's 
ii 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

to  produce  him.  He  was  one  of  her  unique 
masterpieces.  I  haven't  sketched  him  in  for 
you  yet,  because  I  was  not  particularly  inter 
ested  in  him  myself,  until  a  little  incident  oc 
curred  which  drew  my  attention  to  the  father 
almost  as  warmly  as  it  had  been  engaged  by 
the  son.  No,  I  must  begin  again  where  I  left 
off — at  the  back  of  the  lumber -pile,  Jimty's 
dressing-room,  where  Mr.  Stone  and  I  followed 
him  with  the  news  that  our  patient  had  been 
borne  away,  board  and  all,  by  a  physician,  who 
had  arrived  with  his  staff  of  assistants.  The 
girl,  though  not  yet  wholly  conscious,  had  been 
pronounced  safe  enough.  Hers  was  but  an 
obstinate  faint,  after  all,  which  we  had  lacked 
experience  to  recognize.  Indeed,  Mr.  Stone 
and  I  began  to  fear  that  we  had  devoted  atten 
tion  to  the  girl  at  Jimty's  direct  expense.  He 
had  dressed  himself,  and  was  sitting  limply  on 
the  lumber-pile,  shaking  with  the  throes  of  a 
heavy  chill  brought  on  by  reaction  and  ex 
posure.  It  was  rather  early  in  the  season  for 
river  bathing.  Despite  his  chattering  protests, 
Mr.  Stone  grasped  Jimty  by  one  arm,  I  by  the 
other,  and  between  us  we  walked  him  into  a 
little  tavern  of  the  town  close  by,  where  we 
summarily  got  him  into  his  own  bed.  It  was 
there,  it  appeared,  that  the  father  and  son  were 
temporarily  lodging. 

"  While  I  poured  whiskey  down  our  new  pa 
tient's  throat,  Mr.  Stone  dragged  out  from  a 


JIMTY 

corner  what  he  called  his  travelling-bag  —  a 
curious  affair  covered  with  rusty  brown  wool 
len  laid  in  stiff  plaits  that  drew  in  or  out  at 
will.  Until  he  opened  the  clasp  and  took  out  a 
large  bottle  of  powdered  quinine  and  a  tooth 
brush,  I  thought  he  had  there  his  grandfather's 
old  accordion,  and  wondered  what  on  earth  he 
meant  to  do  with  it.  After  we  knew  each  other 
better  he  often  urged  me  to  buy  such  a  bag 
for  my  own  use,  but  I  always  told  him  I  never 
anywhere  saw  one  like  it,  which  was  the  exact 
truth. 

"  To  my  treatment  with  whiskey  Mr.  Stone 
added  a  more  carefully  apportioned  dose  of 
quinine  from  the  bottle.  At  least  it  was  care 
ful  from  his  stand-point,  and  the  measure  was 
evidently  his  accustomed  one  —  a  neat  little 
heap  of  the  powder  on  the  end  of  his  flat-han 
dled  tooth-brush  twice  administered.  The 
amount  would  have  killed  me  ;  but  Jimty  at 
once  fell  into  a  natural  sleep,  and  though  the 
accident  had  occurred  but  a  short  time  before 
sunset,  and  it  was  then  but  a  little  after,  old 
Mr.  Stone  and  I,  quite  worn  out,  followed  his 
example,  retiring  to  our  respective  beds. 

"  It  was  not  until  deep  in  the  next  morning 
that  we  all  three  awoke,  but  little  the  worse 
for  our  experiences.  Jimty,  indeed,  who  had 
most  excuse  for  consequences,  showed  no  traces 
of  his  exertions  beyond  a  few  bruises.  That's 
what  it  means  to  be  young.  I  might  as  well 
13 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

mention  here  that  Mr.  Stone  was  plain  Mr. 
Stone.  He  had  no  title,  military  or  otherwise, 
which  rather  surprised  me  in  an  old  Virginian. 
He  seemed  conscious  himself  that  the  fact  re 
quired  explanation,  and  before  we  parted — 
which  was  almost  immediately,  for  I  had  to 
hurry  on  my  belated  way — he  took  pains  to 
mention  casually  his  sorrow  that  he  had  never 
been  strong  enough  to  give  his  country  active 
service  of  any  kind.  The  thinness  of  his  hooked 
nose,  his  nervous  gestures,  and  the  delicacy  of 
his  skin,  especially  where  it  was  stretched  tight 
ly  over  his  temples,  verified  his  statement,  even 
if  I  had  been  inclined  to  question  his  courage, 
which  I  was  not.  His  frail  appearance  was 
what  made  me  think  of  him  as  an  old  man,  I 
suppose.  In  reality  he  was  about  my  age. 
Jimty  was  as  unlike  his  father  as  two  men  could 
well  be,  except  that  both  had  the  same  pleasant 
freshness  of  voice,  and  that  both  had  blue  eyes. 
The  boy  was  deliberate  in  all  his  movements, 
even  to  the  slow  turning  of  his  eyes.  His  hair 
had  a  queer,  childish  way  of  standing  straight 
up  from  his  brow,  which  added  to  his  proper 
six  feet  two.  Altogether  he  struck  me  as  a 
wholesome  boy — a  beautiful  boy.  He  was  then 
about  twenty -one.  Before  parting  with  my 
twelve-hour  acquaintances  I  breakfasted  at  the 
same  table  with  them,  and  we  lingered  a  few 
moments  afterwards  in  the  tavern  smoking- 
room,  which  faced  the  street.  It  was  there 
14 


JIMTY 

the  little  incident  occurred  which,  as  I  told  you, 
first  drew  my  attention  to  Mr.  Stone.  We  were 
all  three  standing  at  the  large  front  door, 
struggling  into  our  light  top-coats  and  fitting 
on  our  hats,  when  Jimty,  who  was  nearest  the 
pavement,  paused,  and  uttered  an  exclamation 
which  made  our  eyes  follow  his  out  into  the 
street.  There  a  common  sand-cart  jolted  along, 
driven  by  a  countryman,  who  was  stoutly  be 
laboring  his  old  work-horse  in  an  evident  ef 
fort  to  hurry  away  the  unseemly  burden.  Un 
seemly  was  a  mild  word  to  apply  to  his  load. 
The  landlord  had  told  us  that  all  the  suitable 
covered  vehicles  of  the  village  had  been  called 
in  to  carry  away  the  dead  and  wounded  from 
the  broken-wharf  to  their  homes,  and  still  there 
were  not  enough.  It  had  been  a  carnage  too 
terrible  to  meet  with  the  ordinary  decencies 
which  life  pays  to  death.  The  bodies  of  two 
women  lay  in  the  sand  -  cart,  with  distorted 
faces  and  twisted  limbs  uncovered  to  the  street. 
As  I  turned  away  involuntarily  from  the  spec 
tacle  I  saw  that  both  of  my  companions  were 
still  facing  the  street,  standing  with  their  hats 
held  at  their  breasts,  and  their  bared  heads 
bowed  over  them,  as  if  assisting  at  the  funeral 
of  a  dignitary.  I  uncovered  my  head  quickly, 
with  a  sense  of  shame.  Mr.  Stone  looked  up 
again  at  the  cart. 

'"God  forgive  me  —  they  are  women!"  he 
cried. 

15 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  In  a  moment  he  was  out  in  the  street,  a 
white  cloth  caught  from  the  dining-room  table 
in  his  hand.  By  this  the  bodies  were  at  least 
hidden  during  the  rest  of  their  last  journey. 

"Though  it  was  six  months  or  more  before 
I  was  to  meet  Jimty  or  Mr.  Stone  again,  when 
ever  they  recalled  themselves  to  me  it  was  as 
I  turned  from  the  smoking  -  room  door  that 
morning  to  see  them  standing  behind  me,  fa 
ther  and  son,  their  heads  reverently  bowed  over 
their  hats  held  high  on  their  breasts.  And  in 
after-times,  when  I  felt,  as  I  too  often  had  just 
cause  to  feel,  that  old  Mr.  Stone  was  the  most 
exasperating  of  human  beings,  I  had  only  to 
remember  this  little  incident  in  the  smoking- 
room  to  soften  to  him.  In  some  way,  too,  he  had 
managed  to  transmit  and  teach  to  his  boy  all 
that  was  best  in  himself  of  chivalry  and  rever 
ence.  For  this  alone  much  had  to  be  forgiven 
him." 

The  Major  here  interrupted  his  own  tale  with 
determination.  While  not  over-garrulous,  he 
loved  to  talk,  and  though  no  gourmand,  he  duly 
enjoyed  the  flesh-pots.  I  had  for  some  minutes 
been  watching  with  amusement  the  struggle 
between  his  two  appetites.  The  flesh-pots  fi 
nally  conquered. 

"  My  next  meeting  with  the  Stones,"  said  the 

Major,  "  brings  me  back  to  this  cafe  again  ; 

but  before  I  go  on  any  further  I  mean  to  take 

a  little  recess  and  eat  some  luncheon.     I  never 

16 


JIMTY 

could  understand  why  our  physical  economy 
has  not  provided  us  with  one  mouth  for  eating 
and  another  for  talking.  Here  am  I  starving 
over  a  full  plate,  you  politely  playing  with 
your  bread  to  keep  me  company.  What  kind 
of  an  arrangement  is  that  ?" 

While  the  Major,  still  grumbling  at  Provi 
dence,  made  reparation  to  himself  for  his  phys 
ical  limitations,  I  spent  the  time  in  taking  an 
inventory  of  the  cafe's  guests,  and  saw  with 
some  surprise  that  at  the  little  tables  there 
were  a  number  of  refined-looking  women,  with 
and  without  escorts.  When,  after  a  considerate 
delay,  I  pointed  out  their  presence  to  the  Ma 
jor,  he  laughed,  and  explained  : 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  Art  students  chiefly  ; 
but  Una  could  lunch  here  and  leave  her  lion 
outside  the  door-sill  awaiting  her  in  the  sand. 
Madame  chaperons  the  occasion  sufficiently. 
She  is  quite  a  dragon,  is  madame.  I  could  tell 
you — but  no,  this  is  the  story  of  Jimty,  and  I 
won't  be  led  astray.  Do  you  know,  it  was  the 
innocent  presence  of  these  very  women  you 
speak  of  that  on  his  first  appearance  here  held 
Jimty  in  check  at  the  door,  where  I  recognized 
him,  and  rose  from  my  table  to  meet  him, 
reassure  him,  and  lead  him  in.  I  found  after 
wards  that  he  and  his  father  were  in  search 
of  a  restaurant  where  'only  men  were  admit 
ted.'  Old  Mr.  Stone  was  just  behind  Jimty. 
I  have  often  wondered  how  those  two  ever 
B  17 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

lived  through  their  first  six  months  in  this 
great,  unwashed  city.  It  was  Colonel  New- 
come  and  Clive  over  again.  Anything  that  so 
much  as  implied  the  degradation  of  women  was 
horrible  to  them  both.  This  was  the  father's 
teaching.  If  he  had  not  upheld  his  standard 
stoutly,  Jimty  was  young  enough  to  have 
learned  in  six  months  to  ignore  a  great  deal, 
as  most  of  us  do  sojourning  in  our  dear  Sodom. 
"Asking  advice  of  no  one,  and  moving  as 
they  had  from  cheap  cafes  to  others  yet  cheap 
er  in  search  of  the  minimum  of  living,  they 
must  have  stumbled  on  some  odd  and  to  them 
most  painful  experiences.  They  had  grown 
suspicious  of  everything,  even  of  such  a  scene 
as  this;  yet  here  was  just  where  they  belonged. 
Cheap,  clean,  easy  -  going,  eminently  respect 
able,  and,  above  all,  really  fine  French  cooking 
served  in  steaming  hot  dishes.  When  Jimty 
settled  himself  in  the  seat  opposite  me,  which 
you  now  have,  and  his  father  sank  into  a  chair 
at  the  side  of  the  table,  I  knew  they  had  joined 
madame's  constant  following  from  that  mo 
ment.  I  saw  Mr.  Stone  looking  at  these  white 
table-cloths  and  the  bright,  wooden  -  handled 
knives  with  a  smile  of  perplexity  at  their  qual 
ity,  but  great  satisfaction  in  their  cleanliness. 
I  could  see  that  the  nai've  habit  our  waiters 
have  formed  when  not  too  busy — they  never 
neglect  any  one — of  joining,  with  broken  Eng 
lish,  in  our  political  discussions  rather  startled 
18 


JIMTY 

him,  but  he  soon  came  to  like  it.  We  all  do. 
Occasionally,  very  occasionally,  when  we  talk 
French,  even  monsieur  himself  wanders  up  to 
the  table,  and,  his  hands  behind  him,  joins  in. 
But  he  remains  a  remote  individuality. 

"  As  regards  Jimty,  after  the  door-sill  of  the 
cafe  was  once  crossed,  he  had  no  scruples  of 
any  kind  to  overcome.  He  settled  into  his 
place,  almost  purring  like  a  lost  cat  by  an 
adopted  hearth,  and  we  met  here  almost  daily. 
That  is,  Jimty  and  I  did.  Mr.  Stone,  as  a  more 
restless  spirit,  sometimes  wandered. 

"  It  was  not  at  once  that  I  found  out  all  I 
have  told  you,  or  knew  how  long  my  two  friends 
had  been  in  the  city.  This  was  because  I  ques 
tioned  Mr.  Stone  first,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  realized  that  he  always  refused  me  a 
direct  reply.  It  takes  more  tact  than  courage 
to  say  no,  I  think.  Mr.  Stone  had  a  fine  tact 
that  let  him  deliver  the  point-blank  negative 
so  disguised  that  the  recipient  could  not  possi 
bly  recognize  it.  I  have  never  encountered 
such  command  of  language  as  was  his,  nor  a 
more  adroit  power  of  choosing  a  word  which 
would  not  express  his  real  meaning.  While  he 
seemed  to  be  baring  his  very  heart  to  you,  you 
might  be  sure — after  you  grew  to  know  his 
ways — that  the  information  you  were  seeking 
and  he  meant  to  keep  was  wrapped  away  some 
where  in  the  flow  of  speech.  So  soon  as  I 
made  this  discovery  I  waited  for  my  chance, 
19 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

and  one  night  when  Jimty  was  dining  here 
alone  with  me  I  put  the  direct  question  to  him, 
'  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  city  ?'  '  We've 
been  here  over  six  months,'  said  Jimty.  Though 
a  man,  and  so  large  a  one  at  that,  Jimty  had 
still  a  country  lad's  habit  of  standing  as  it 
were  '  at  gaze '  when  a  question  was  suddenly 
asked  him.  He  would  not  only  turn  his  eyes, 
but  his  whole  body,  to  his  questioner.  Bucolic 
as  this  was,  it  always  attracted  me.  As  he  an 
swered  my  abrupt  and  evidently  embarrassing 
question  he  faced  me  fully,  as  usual,  flushing, 
as  he  had  reason  to  ;  for,  when  we  parted  after 
the  wharf  accident,  I  had  given  my  card  with 
my  address  to  Mr.  Stone,  urging  him  to  seek 
me  out  if  ever  in  my  city.  I  had  noticed  at 
the  time  that  he  only  answered  by  telling  me 
that  he  had  just  the  week  before  sold  his  old 
home  in  Virginia,  but  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  have  me  accept  the  hospitality  of  his  rela 
tions'  homes  if  ever  in  his  county,  where  the 
taverns  were  poor.  I  must  mention  that  later 
on,  in  a  second  business  visit  to  Virginia,  I  did 
use  the  card  of  introduction  Mr.  Stone  then 
gave  me,  and  was  passed  from  house  to  house, 
from  hand  to  hand,  as  a  precious  parcel.  I 
came  back  having  covered  miles  of  my  journey 
without  a  hotel  bill  in  my  pocket ;  and  then, 
and  not  until  then,  did  I  reach  an  adequate 
understanding  of  the  loneliness  my  two  Vir 
ginia  friends  must  have  suffered  when  first  lost 


JIMTY 

in  the  toils  of  my  home  city,  which  is  not  a  city 
of  homes. 

"  '  Why  haven't  you  looked  me  up  ?'  I  asked 
Jimty.  '  Did  you  know  any  one  here  ?'  Jimty 
had  not  his  father's  squirrel-like  gift  of  secre 
tion.  The  nuts  he  would  fain  have  hidden  in 
his  jaws  were  easy  to  draw  out.  I  discovered 
that  they  had  purposely  stayed  behind  at  the 
tavern  where  I  left  them  after  the  wharf  acci 
dent,  and  followed  on  my  very  track  by  the 
next  train.  To  a  mind  not  drilled  by  old  Mr. 
Stone  this  avoidance  of  me  was  inexplicable 
and  fairly  offensive.  I  implied  as  much  to 
Jimty. 

"  '  But  we  had  been  through  something  to 
gether,'  he  explained,  '  and  father  felt  it  would 
have  been  presuming  on  that  to  have  told  you 
we  were  going  to  your  city.  You  see  we  had 
not  a  single  friend  here.  You  might  have  felt 
us  on  your  mind.  We  meant  to  hunt  you  up 
as  soon  as  we  were  on  our  feet.' 

"  Only  then  did  I  know  that  they  were  not 
'  on  their  feet,'  though  I  had  before  suspected 
it.  By  degrees  I  won  the  whole  story  from 
Jimty,'  told  with  no  sense  of  humor  ;  he  was 
as  deficient  in  that  as  are  most  country-bred 
boys.  The  returns  from  the  sale  of  their  home 
had  been  nominal,  owing  to  old  mortgages ; 
and  the  father,  or  rather  the  son,  had  been 
trying  every  plan  to  husband  this  small  stock 
of  money  which  they  had  brought  with  them 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

to  the  city,  where  both  hoped  to  find  employ 
ment. 

"  '  We  took  one  room  at  first,  and  while  I  was 
out  looking  for  work,  father  cooked  our  meals 
over  our  open  fire,'  said  Jimty.  '  We  found 
that  much  less  expensive  ;  but  we  had  only  one 
frying-pan,  and  father  would  throw  the  grease 
from  it  into  the  fire.  Once  he  burned  his  hand 
badly,  and  once  he  set  fire  to  the  mantel-piece. 
I  was  always  afraid  I'd  find  him  seriously  hurt 
when  I  came  home.' 

"  '  Why  did  he  keep  on  doing  it  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Oh,  I  don't  know,'  said  Jimty.  '  Father's 
very  apt  to  keep  on  doing  anything  he  does 
once.  Finally  our  landlady  stopped  our  "  light 
house-keeping,"  as  she  called  it,  and  I  was  glad 
of  it.' 

" '  Jimty,'  I  said,  '  you  asked  her  to  stop  it. 
You  know  you  did.'  You  see,  I  had  not  been 
studying  the  boy's  methods  of  dealing  with  his 
father  for  nothing. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  answered,  quietly;  '  I  had  to.  It 
was  the  best  way.  Then  we  went  from  place 
to  place  for  our  meals,  each  worse  than  the 
last.  Then  ' — his  eyes  lit  up — '  then  we  came 
here.' 

"  By  his  honest,  good  -  looking  face,  appar 
ently,  for  he  had  no  other  introductions,  Jimty 
had  won  for  himself  a  fairly  good  business  po 
sition,  with  better  prospects  ahead,  but  he  was 
now  worrying  over  his  father.  The  money  they 


JIMTY 

had  brought  with  them  was  dwindling  rapidly. 
Mr.  Stone  was  living  upon  it  exclusively  ;  he 
would  not  touch  a  penny  of  Jimty's  earnings. 

"  '  When  that  little  is  gone,  and  he  has  to  call 
on  me,  I  don't  know  how  he  will  stand  it,'  said 
Jimty,  in  distress.  '  If  only  father  were  a  little 
less  proud  !' 

"  '  Is  he  too  proud  to  work  ?'  I  asked. 

"  Jimty  eagerly  assured  me  he  was  not ;  that 
he  would  do  anything  but  live  on  charity,  even 
his  son's — which  seemed  to  me  laudable  enough, 
and  not  just  what  I  had  expected. 

"  Mr.  Stone  was  a  man  of  curious  contradic 
tions. 

" '  What  work  has  your  father  done  before 
this  ?'  I  inquired,  and  the  query  seemed  to  ren 
der  Jimty  desperate. 

"  '  That's  the  first  question  every  one  asks,' 
he  said.  '  Of  course  father  has  never  done  any 
work  at  all.  He  had  no  reason  to  before  the 
war,  and  since — '  He  paused,  with  an  embar 
rassed  look  at  me,  which  I  did  not  then  under 
stand. 

"  '  Since  then,'  I  said,  '  I  suppose  you  have 
been  living  on  your  land  alone.' 

"  '  You  can't  eat  land,'  said  Jimty,  gloomily. 
'  Nobody  can  eat  land.  We  had  to  eat.  No  ; 
the  truth  is,  father  made  a  terrible  mistake  a 
few  years  after  the  war.  He  married  again, 
a  rich  New  England  woman.  They  lived  to 
gether  wretchedly  for  about  fifteen  years,  but 
23 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

now  they  are  separated  entirely.  Father  only 
married  her  for  my  sake.  He  didn't  know  how 
I  should  hate  it  as  I  grew  older.' 

"  '  Was  she  a  step-dame  to  you  ?'  I  asked,  cau 
tiously.  Jimty  was  blurting  out  his  facts  with 
a  freedom  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb. 

' '  Oh  no,'  he  replied,  quickly.  '  She  was  very 
good  to  me — too  good.  Her  money  smothered 
me.  She  would  give  me  anything  before  I 
knew  I  wanted  it,  and  seemed  to  grudge  every 
thing  to  father.  They  were  so  different.  She 
kept  account  of  every  penny,  while  father  never 
kept  a  book  in  his  life.  I  know  it  was  hard  on 
her  sometimes,  but  if  father  had  owned  any 
thing  it  would  have  been  entirely  hers,  and  he 
never  could  understand  her  feeling  differently.' 

"This  was  one  of  the  cases  where  Jimty's 
sense  of  humor  failed  him.  I  managed  to  reply 
sympathetically,  but  my  heart  was  on  the  side 
of  the  second  Mrs.  Stone,  married  for  the  boy's 
sake  alone.  I  had  already  learned  something 
of  Mr.  Stone's  business  methods,  and  a  strain 
of  thrifty  blood  in  me  responded  to  her  trials  in 
dealing  with  a  husband  whose  keeping  of  per 
sonal  accounts  was  (as  he  had  once  jovially 
confessed  to  me)  confined  to  'knowing  to  a 
cent  how  much  he  spent,  as  he  always  spent 
every  cent  he  had.' 

' '  What  finally  separated  them  ?'  I  asked. 

" '  I  did,'  said  Jimty,  shortly,    '  Just  as  soon 
as  I  was  old  enough  I  remonstrated  with  her. 
24 


JIMTY 

She  told  me  then  to  my  face  that  it  was  for 
my  sake  alone  she  had  stood  my  father  so  long 
as  she  had,  and  "an  old  Virginia  gentleman 
was  a  luxury  she  could  not  afford." ' 

The  Major  set  down  his  lifted  wine-glass  and 
laughed  aloud  at  his  own  narrative.  "  Poor 
lady  !"  he  said,  shaking  his  head — "poor  lady  ! 
I  never  met  her,  and  probably  never  shall,  but 
if  ever  woman  had  my  respectful  sympathy, 
she  did.  Think  how  she  must  have  loved  that 
boy  to  have  endured  for  his  sake  the  kind  of 
life  I  know  she  led  for  fifteen  years  or  more  ! 
Her  New  England  soul  must  have  died  daily, 
and  yet  at  her  one  and  only  recorded  outburst 
to  Jimty  the  boy  whirled  away  insulted,  with 
his  father  on  his  back,  to  seek  their  fortunes. 
Their  fortunes,  forsooth  !  I  failed  to  see  how 
Jimty  was  to  afford  the  luxury  Mrs.  Stone  had 
groaned  under. 

" '  Is  there  no  possibility  of  reconciling  them  ?' 
I  asked  Jimty,  but  he  crushed  the  hope. 

"  '  None.  Of  course  not.  They  parted  three 
years  ago.  Mrs.  Stone  went  back  to  her  own 
people,  and  father  and  I  tried  to  keep  up  the 
old  place  with  what  we  had  left.  She  did  offer 
to  leave  us  an  allowance  ;  indeed,  she  begged  us 
to  take  it — and  it  was  a  liberal  sum  too.  We 
parted  kindly  enough,  but  of  course  father  re 
fused  her  money.  When  we  found  the  old 
home  could  not  be  kept  up  we  sold  it  out  and 
came  up  here.' 

25 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  So  far  as  I  could  discover  from  all  this,  Mr. 
Stone  had,  in  the  term  of  life  granted  him, 
made  but  two  serious  attempts  to  earn  his 
bread  —  first  by  matrimony,  next  by  cooking 
— both  efforts  ending  with  the  fat  deliberately 
thrown  in  the  fire  by  his  own  obstinate  hand. 
Neither  experiment  exactly  yielded  a  record 
with  which  to  approach  a  business  man ;  yet, 
when  it  became  evident  that  without  influence 
Mr.  Stone  could  never  gain  a  position,  I  vent 
ured — with  some  misgivings,  I  confess — to  use 
a  little  present  power  which  I  happened  to 
possess  with  a  business  acquaintance  by  per 
suading  him  to  try  Mr.  Stone  in  a  vacant  cleri 
cal  position  in  his  office.  The  salary  was  a 
very  small  one,  but  it  was  something,  and  the 
duties  were  light.  They  did  not  include  ac 
counts. 

"  Now  I  don't  know  that  you  have  noticed 
it,"  went  on  the  Major,  glancing  about  the 
room,  "  but  it  is  our  custom  in  this  cafe"  to 
openly  overhear  any  good  story  that  is  being 
told  at  one  of  the  other  tables.  As  it  is  the 
custom,  there  is  nothing  rude  in  it.  So  soon 
as  he  had  settled  into  his  business  position, 
Mr.  Stone,  to  my  surprise,  shot  at  once  into 
the  place  of  raconteur  of  the  cafe.  We  had 
never  possessed  before,  and  never  shall  again, 
any  one  else  who  is  capable  of  improvising 
such  irresistibly  comic  stories  with  so  little 
point,  or  such  rippling  fancy  interlarded  with 
26 


JIMTY 

as  inimitable  negro  dialect.  Mr.  Stone  had 
only  to  lift  his  far-reaching  voice,  wonderfully 
clear  and  youthful  for  a  man  of  his  age,  with 
'  Now  I'll  tell  you  a  true  story  ;  you  mayn't 
believe  it,  but ' — and  the  whole  room  was  at 
tentive. 

"  There  was  one  delightfully  idiotic  tale  of 
Glass  Snakes  and  Transparent  Mocking-Birds 
for  which  he  became  quietly  famous.  Some 
day  I  will  tell  it  to  you,  or  Mr.  Stone  shall. 
This  was  the  first  story  he  ever  gave  us,  and 
it  immediately  assured  his  position.  His  tal 
ents  in  this  line  had  been  so  unsuspected  by 
me,  and  their  expression  was  so  evidently  the 
outcome  of  the  man's  happiness,  that  I  felt  re 
proached  in  not  having  realized  before  how  his 
failure  to  gain  work  had  preyed  on  his  spirits. 

" '  Ah  !'  he  said  to  me,  '  I  tell  you,  Major,  it's 
not  the  dinner  he  eats  that  fattens  a  man ;  it's 
knowing  where  to-morrow's  dinner  is  to  come 
from.' 

"But  through  Jimty  I  learned  that  his  fa 
ther's  satisfaction  had  yet  deeper  roots.  He 
had  confessed  to  his  boy  a  passionate  pride  in 
the  fact  that  he — an  old  and  ruined  Southern 
gentleman — was  yet  proved  capable  of  taking 
up  his  life  where  it  had  broken  off  and  begin 
ning  over  again  in  the  world.  This  was  another 
of  the  odd,  half-veiled  nobilities  of  the  man's 
character  disclosing  itself.  To  me,  watching 
these  two  grown  men  made  blissfully  happy 
27 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

with  a  bare  living  income  between  them  was 
painful.  It  gave  too  significant  a  hint  of  their 
past. 

"  Contented  as  they  were,  it  was  not  entirely 
plain  sailing  for  my  two  friends.  Jimty  could 
not  always  control  his  father's  eccentric  econo 
mies,  as  expensive  in  the  end  as  his  occasional 
bursts  of  extravagance,  but  he  met  such  emer 
gencies  with  a  dogged  kind  of  courage,  taking 
them  apparently  as  but  a  part  of  his  day's  work. 
He  reminded  me  in  those  times  of  a  sturdy  little 
horse  uncomplainingly  digging  its  way  up  a 
steep  hill.  Mr.  Stone  must  have  been  a  heavy 
burden  to  carry,  and  close  as  was  the  relation 
between  the  two,  as  father  and  son,  it  was  also 
anomalous.  As  for  Mr.  Stone  himself,  he  seem 
ed  to  harbor  no  further  misgivings  regarding 
anything  in  life.  His  oyster  was  opened  wide. 
When  he  was  not  telling  his  stories,  which  he 
seemed  able  to  draw  in  limitless  stores  from  a 
bosom  as  eternal  as  Abraham's,  he  would  re 
lieve  his  feelings  by  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  humming  to  himself  over  and  over  two 
lines  of  an  old-fashioned  hymn  tune  which  ran, 

'  But  when  I  am  happy  in  Him, 
December's  as  pleasant  as  May.' 

This  was  all,  and  the  air  never  varied. 

"  I  am  afraid  '  him '  meant  Jimty,  for  he  al 
ways  looked  at  the  boy  as  he  sang.    Under  these 
circumstances  you  may  imagine  my  feelings 
28 


JIMTY 

when,  one  morning,  among  the  letters  on  my 
desk  I  found  a  rather  curt  note  from  Mr.  Her- 
rick — my  acquaintance  and  Mr.  Stone's  em 
ployer —  informing  me  that,  much  as  he  had 
desired  to  serve  me,  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  continue  with  Mr.  Stone's  services.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  read  between  these  lines  that 
Herrick,  along  with  the  second  Mrs.  Stone — 
poor  lady ! — had  found  an  old  Virginia  gentle 
man  a  luxury  too  expensive.  I  confess  I  was 
a  coward.  I  could  not  face  Jimty  with  the 
news.  I  sealed  up  the  letter,  with  a  line  from 
myself,  and  sent  it  to  him  by  a  messenger.  I 
thought  I  should  see  him  and  his  father  at  the 
cafe  that  night,  but  at  the  last  moment  I  was 
called  away  from  town  for  several  days,  and 
when  I  returned  I  was  still  reluctant  enough  to 
be  a  little  late  for  dinner.  When  I  did  arrive 
here  I  lingered  at  the  door,  rubbing  my  feet 
in  the  sand  on  the  threshold  and  peering  over 
at  our  table.  There  was  Mr.  Stone  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  Jimty,  as  usual, 
and  the  first  thing  I  heard  as  I  drew  nearer  was 
his  contented,  bumblebee-like  droning  : 

'  But  when  I  am  happy  in  Him, 
December's  as  pleasant  as  May.' 

Jimty  was  sitting  at  his  side  of  the  table  with 
a  couple  of  little  books  laid  by  his  plate. 

"  Mr.  Stone  hailed  me  jovially  at  once.     Un 
like  his  boy,  he  rarely  moved  his  head  except 
29 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

to  throw  it  back  in  talking,  but  his  roving  blue 
eyes  saw  everything. 

" '  Welcome,  stranger  ;  you've  come  back  just 
in  time.  Jimty  is  about  to  draw  the  first  check 
he  ever  made  out  in  his  life,  in  the  first  check 
book  he  ever  owned.  It's  a  great  moment,  I 
assure  you — isn't  it,  James  T.  ?' 

"  I  looked  from  Mr.  Stone  to  Jimty's  smiling 
face,  and  sat  down,  wondering,  while  Mr.  Stone 
went  on  to  tell  me  how  he  had  always  hated 
check-books  himself,  as  he  liked  'to  feel  the 
money  slip  through  his  fingers.' 

" '  Jimty  here,'  he  went  on,  '  hates  so  to  see 
good  money  go  out  he  means  to  charge  every 
thing  and  pay  in  checks,  only  to  spare  his  feel 
ings.' 

"I  suggested  gently  that  check-books  had 
some  value  also  as  a  kind  of  record,  but  Mr. 
Stone  gave  vent  to  his  usual  contempt  for  any 
thing  like  the  keeping  of  accounts. 

" '  I  never  felt  any  need  of  records,'  he  said. 
'  When  I  went  travelling,  for  instance,  I  used 
to  take  the  sum  I  had  to  spend  and  put  half 
in  my  right-hand  pocket  and  half  in  my  left. 
When  I  had  used  up  all  my  right-hand  pocket, 
I  turned  around  and  came  home  on  my  left- 
hand  pocket.  I  call  that  sensible  and  careful 
enough.' 

"Far  from  the  depression  I  had  feared  to 
find,  it  seemed  that  Mr.  Stone  was  in  highest 
spirits.  When,  late  in  the  evening,  a  cafe  ac- 
30 


JIMTY 

quaintance  joined  us  at  our  table,  and  Jimty 
made  his  father  tell  that  idiotic  story  of  the 
Transparent  Mocking-Birds  and  Glass  Snakes 
for  the  hundredth  time,  I  listened,  and,  in  spite 
of  myself,  laughed  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
story's  point.  I  had  never  heard  Mr.  Stone 
handle  the  tale  better.  Nor  could  I  detect  any 
underlying  anxiety  in  Jimty's  manner. 

"  Indeed,  the  new  bank-book  lying  by  his 
plate  lent  such  an  air  of  prosperity,  I  began  to 
think  my  letter  of  ill  tidings  must  have  mis 
carried.  But,  as  we  were  leaving  the  cafe,  Jimty 
managed  to  fall  behind  for  a  moment  with  me. 

" '  It's  all  right,  Major,  thank  you,'  he  whis 
pered  ;  '  don't  let  father  suspect  anything.  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  have  a  rise  of  salary  the 
day  I  got  your  letter.  I  saw  Mr.  Herrick  about 
it,  and  was  able  to  arrange  to  pay  him  very 
nearly  what  he  pays  father.  It  was  the  best 
way.  I  think  it  would  have  killed  father  to 
lose  his  position.' " 

The  Major  sat  silent,  as  if  recalling  some 
thing  he  liked  to  dwell  on. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  to  equal  that  ?" 
he  asked.  "  Paid  Herrick  to  retain  his  father's 
useless  services  ;  and  you  would  have  thought 
he  was  telling  me  of  the  simplest  business  ar 
rangement  !  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  I  won  my 
spurs  fighting  against  the  South  in  the  sixties, 
but  it  was  brother  against  brother,  if  ever  war 
was.  I  am,  in  fact,  Southern  on  one  side  of  the 
31 


J1MTY,  AND   OTHERS 

house,  but  I  never — no,  not  when  I  recognized 
my  own  first  cousin  across  the  battle  -  line — 
felt  the  tug  of  my  Southern  blood  and  sinew 
claiming  me  as  when  I  stood  by  that  cafe  door 
and  heard  Jimty  explain  why  he  stinted  him 
self  to  feed  his  father's  child -like  pride.  Do 
you  know,  the  South  and  its  people  have  always 
seemed  to  me  somehow  as  a  deep  river  that,  in 
contradiction  to  every  law,  still  persists  in  mur 
muring  and  flinging  up  spray  and  foam  like 
a  shallow  brook.  The  best  stuff  of  the  South 
flows  deep  down  in  a  common  undercurrent. 
Their  Lees  and  their  Stonewall  Jacksons  and, 
yes,  their  Jimtys,  rise  only  as  occasion  calls. 
Meantime  those  who  are  nothing  but  the  foam 
on  the  top  of  the  waves  pass  for  the  general 
type  of  the  South.  They  are,  of  course,  one 
type,  but  only  one — the  most  conspicuous,  the 
least  valuable.  Oh  yes,  delightful  enough,  ex 
cept  to  live  with.  I  could  not  have  lived  a 
week  with  old  Mr.  Stone." 

I  ventured  to  draw  the  Major  from  general 
ization  back  to  narrative.  The  cafe  was  be 
ginning  to  empty  slowly.  I  wished  to  have  the 
thread  of  the  tale  I  was  hearing  unreeled  to 
the  shuttle  on  the  spot  where  it  had  been 
wound. 

"  But  old  Mr.  Stone,"  I  asked,  "  was  he  so 
easily  deceived  ?" 

"  Of  course.  But  not  for  long,  though  Jimty 
took  every  precaution.  He  had  opened  his 
32 


JIMTY 

private  bank  account  chiefly  in  order  to  pay 
Herrick  by  a  monthly  check,  which  he  sent 
through  the  mail.  You  know  it  is  impossible 
to  keep  a  secret  like  that.  One  night  Jimty 
came  into  the  cafe,  looking  white  and  scared, 
to  tell  me  that  his  father  had  disappeared.  He 
walked  up  to  my  side  and  stood  there  in  his 
usual  direct  way,  as  a  child  comes  in  trouble. 
There  was  nothing  childish  about  him  but  his 
surface  ways.  He  brought  a  short  note  from 
his  father  to  show  me.  He  had  found  it  a  few 
moments  before,  awaiting  him  in  their  room. 
As  I  remember,  it  ran,  in  substance — 

"  'You  should  have  known  me  better,  dear  boy.  I  must 
earn  my  own  bread.  If  I  am  in  sickness  or  need  I  will  send 
for  you.  I  forbid  you  to  look  for  me.  God  bless  you! 

"' Your  devoted  FATHER.' 

"  Mr.  Stone  had  taken  away  with  him  just 
half  —  to  a  penny  —  of  their  small  remaining 
capital,  the  accordion-bag,  and  his  own  cloth 
ing  ;  nothing  more.  At  first  Jimty,  and  I  too, 
believed  that  Mr.  Herrick  must  in  a  moment 
of  impatience  have  betrayed  the  secret.  Yet 
it  was  unlike  him.  I  had  reason  to  believe  that 
his  word,  once  given,  became  a  law  unto  himself. 
On  the  other  hand,  knowing  him  as  a  practical 
business  man  to  the  backbone,  his  retaining 
Mr.  Stone  so  long  in  his  office,  even  at  no  ex 
pense  to  himself,  had  all  along  been  rather  a 
matter  of  surprise  to  me,  though  I  recalled 
c  33 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

how  Mrs.  Stone,  at  considerable  expense,  had 
borne  with  the  father  during  fifteen  weary 
years  for  the  sake  of  the  same  advocate.  Un 
der  all  the  circumstances  I  thought  our  first 
and  wisest  move  was  for  me  to  see  Herrick 
alone,  and  gain  from  him  what  further  informa 
tion  I  could  ;  so  I  left  Jimty  at  his  desolated 
room,  and  went  on  up  town  to  Herrick's  house. 

"  Herrick  received  me  in  his  private  library. 
He  is  a  large,  heavily  built,  strong -featured 
man,  with  a  hard  voice  and  a  good  -  natured 
laugh.  He  was  laughing  when  I  came  in,  and 
seemed  to  know  at  once  what  I  was  there  for. 

"  '  Old  Stone,  I  suppose  ?'  he  said.  '  Major,  I 
don't  think  I  deserved  that  Old  Man  of  the 
Sea  of  you.  Socially,  I  don't  doubt,  he's  de 
lightful,  but  he  certainly  has  the  business 
equipment  of  a  jackass.  That's  a  fine  boy  of 
his,  though  ;  nothing  of  the  jackass  there.  I 
was  glad  to  accommodate  you,  of  course,  by 
keeping  the  old  man  (on  the  boy's  terms),  yet 
I  tell  you  now  frankly,  I  wouldn't  have  kept 
him  on  any  terms  for  you  or  anybody  else  if 
I  hadn't  been  really  touched  by  his  son's  ex 
traordinary  offer.  It's  not  often  you  run  on 
anything  like  that  in  business  life.  You  know 
how  he  came  to  leave  me,  of  course  ?  No  ? 
Well,  my  book-keeper  carelessly  left  young 
Stone's  check  open  on  his  desk,  and  old  Mr. 
Stone's  magpie-like  eyes  saw  it  in  passing.  His 
mind  is  every  bit  as  quick  as  his  eyes.  It 
34 


JIMTY 

works  like  a  back  stitch  in  a  matter  like  that. 
He  went  on  his  way  past  the  desk  straight  to 
my  private  room,  and  taxed  me  with  deduc 
tions  I  could  not  deny.  He  resigned  his  posi 
tion  on  the  spot.' 

'"And  has  since  disappeared,'  I  added. 
Then  I  told  Herrick  of  the  letter  and  its  con 
tents. 

"'No!'  he  said,  easily  ;  'you  don't  say  so! 
Well,  so  much  the  better  for  the  boy  ;  that  is, 
if  the  old  man  doesn't  bring  his  debts  back 
with  him  when  he  comes.  Mark  my  words,  as 
soon  as  his  money  runs  out  he  will  run  in. 
Oh,  you  needn't  bother  to  look  for  him.  Some 
times  I  think  vice  is  easier  to  deal  with  than 
worthlessness.  At  least  it  can  be  depended  on 
to  take  care  of  itself.' 

"  Herrick's  manner  vexed  me,  but  as  I  want 
ed  his  help  in  the  matter,  I  answered  moder 
ately  that  I  thought  he  missed  seeing  certain 
qualities  in  Mr.  Stone  which  made  me  fear  he 
would  starve  before  bending  his  pride  and  re 
turning  unsought.  '  In  the  mean  time,'  I 
urged,  '  the  man  was  wholly  unfitted  to  care 
for  himself.' 

"  I  had  never  before  met  Herrick  on  anything 
but  business  terms.  I  knew  of  him  only  as  a 
self-made  man,  but  of  his  family  and  home 
life  nothing  whatever.  I  was  entirely  unpre 
pared  for  it  when  he  flung  out  towards  me  an 
arm  as  strong  as  a  horse's  leg,  with — 
35 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

" '  Major,  any  man  who  has  his  two  arms  free 
can  put  bread  in  his  mouth  and  a  roof  over 
his  head  if  he  chooses  to.  If  not,  let  him  go. 
Suppose  he  does  have  to  sleep  in  a  field  once  in 
a  while — why  not  ?  He  has  all  fate  promises 
him.  If  you  were  to  come  to  me  telling  the 
story  of  a  man  with  a  child  clinging  to  his 
hand  and  the  wife  he  loves  hampering  his 
arms,  then  I  should  know  what  you  meant. 
It's  when  he  has  given  hostages  to  Fortune — 
hostages  to  Fortune — there  were  never  strong 
er  words — that  he  learns  how  to  suffer.  You  can 
starve  your  own  tough  flesh  and  let  your  own 
bones  go  cold,  but  when  the  flesh  of  your  flesh 
and  bone  of  your  bone  are  suffering  for  what 
you  would  kill  yourself  to  give  them  —  God 
knows,  sometimes  I  hate  the  sight  of  the  luxu 
ries  about  me  !  If  I  could  have  commanded 
them  earlier,  my  wife  would  be  with  me.' 

"He  got  up  and  walked  across  the  room, 
leaving  me  overwhelmed.  This  was  the  man 
behind  the  hard  voice. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  say.  What  could  I  say  ? 
Bodies  were  not  made  to  talk  with  naked  souls. 
At  least  mine  was  not. 

"  Herrick  came  back  to  his  chair  frowning. 

" '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said.  '  I  don't  know 
what  has  upset  me  this  evening.  My  wife  has 
been  gone  only  a  year,  and  left  us  about  this 
time.  She  lived  to  enjoy  some  years  of  luxu 
ry,  so  I  ought  not  to  resent  things  as  I  do,  I 
36 


JIMTY 

suppose ;  but  I  have  always  been  confident 
that  her  early  hardships  were  what  really 
caused  her  death.  One  little  plunge  in  cold 
water  would  not  have  killed  a  strong  woman — 
it  did  her.' 

" '  Herrick,'  I  said,  '  do  you  mean  she  was 
drowned  ?' 

" '  Yes,'  he  answered,  '  I  suppose  you  might 
say  so.  Shock,  the  doctors  called  it.  She  was 
only  in  the  water  a  moment  before  I  dragged 
her  out.  A  wharf  we  were  standing  on  set 
tled  and  sank.  There  was  terrible  loss  of  life. 
My  only  child  was  saved  as  by  a  miracle,  poor 
little  girl !' 

"  While  he  was  speaking  I  was  as  sure  as  you 
are  at  this  moment  that  the  accident  had  taken 
place  in  Virginia,  that  I  had  been  a  witness  of 
it,  and  that  Herrick's  daughter  was  the  girl 
Jimty  had  saved.  In  his  expansive  mood  it 
was  not  difficult  to  lead  Herrick  on.  When  I 
left  him  that  night  it  was  too  late  to  see  Jimty 
again,  but  the  first  question  I  asked  the  boy  as 
he  entered  the  cafe  for  breakfast  was  not  con 
cerning  his  father,  but,  'Jimty,  what  kind  of 
coat  did  you  wrap  about  the  girl  you  pulled 
out  of  the  water  at  the  Virginia  wharf  ?' 

"  '  A  new  corded  black,'  he  answered,  looking 
at  his  rubbed  coat  sleeves  ;  '  and  I  wish  I  had 
it  now.  She  can't  want  it,  and  I  do,  badly.' 

" '  There  were  plenty  of  corded  black  coats 
there,  and  plenty  of  women  wrapped  in  them, 

37 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

I  suppose,'  I  said.  '  What  had  you  in  the  pock 
ets?' 

"I  don't  remember  anything  but  a  green 
housewife  and  a  little  old  corn-cob  pipe.  I  have 
missed  that  pipe  more  than  the  coat.  Why  do 
you  ask  ?' 

' '  Because,'  I  answered,  '  if  your  coat  was  a 
new  corded  black,  and  had  a  housewife  and  a 
corn-cob  pipe  in  the  pockets,  the  girl  you  saved 
was  Herrick's  only  child.  He  has  advertised 
for  you  and  been  looking  for  you  ever  since. 
He  showed  me  your  coat  last  night.  He  keeps 
it  carefully  folded  away  among  his  own,  and 
says  he  means  to  until  he  finds  the  man  to 
whom  it  belongs.  You  have  only  to  walk  up 
town  to  slip  into  it  and  your  fortune.' 

' '  Well,  I  certainly  sha'n't,'  said  Jimty.  And 
from  this  position  I  was  not  able  to  move  him 
an  inch.  In  vain  I  argued  that  I  had  not  in 
tended  he  himself  should  claim  the  laurels 
Herrick  had  plaited  and  waiting.  As  soon  as 
he  understood  me  Jimty  sternly  exacted  a 
promise  of  silence,  and,  indeed,  I  had  now  no 
right  to  speak  to  Herrick  without  his  permis 
sion,  though  I  devoutly  wished  I  had  been  less 
reticent  when  the  coat  was  first  shown  me. 
Unfortunately  I  had  waited  to  verify  my  sus 
picions.  For  days  I  wrestled  with  Jimty  on 
this  question.  It  was  our  sauce  with  each 
meal.  He  knew  as  well  as  I  what  Herrick's 
mere  interest  would  mean  for  him  in  the  busi- 
38 


JIMTY 

ness  world,  but  he  was,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  un 
reasonably,  foolishly  obstinate.  Finally  I  had 
a  chance  to  bring  the  girl  herself  forward  as 
argument. 

" '  Jimty,'  I  said,  '  I  do  think  you  are  a  fool. 
You  don't  know  a  woman  in  this  city  except 
ing  madame,  and  there's  as  sweet  a  child  as 
any  man  could  ask  for  ' — she  was  quite  Jimty's 
age,  but  they  were  both  children  to  me — '  sim 
ply  waiting  to  receive  you.  Her  father  called 
me  across  the  street  to-day  to  meet  her.  He 
has  a  right  to  be  proud  of  her.  She's  as  pretty 
and  pink  as  a  bonnet  rose.  You  would  never 
have  known  her  for  the  dead-looking  girl  we 
laid  out  on  the  board  by  the  water.' 

"  Then  my  young  man  blushed — blushed  un 
til  I  saw  I  had  somehow  hit  near  the  real  cause 
of  his  obstinacy. 

"  '  I  did  recognize  her,'  he  said.  '  Mr.  Her- 
rick  sent  for  me  the  other  day  to  explain  to 
me  himself  how  Father  came  to  leave  him. 
She  stopped  in  at  the  office  for  a  moment 
while  I  was  there.  But  if  you  think  I  am  ever 
going  to  be  led  up  to  any  woman  as  the  man 
who  saved  her  life  stark  naked  you  are  mis 
taken.  I  have  been  mortally  ashamed  of  that 
ever  since  it  happened.  The  amount  of  it  was, 
I  lost  my  head ;  but  why  in  the  world  Father 
didn't  make  me  keep  on  something  I  can't  see 
yet.  It  was  perfectly  ridiculous — unnecessary 
— theatrical.' 

39 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  He  tramped  out  of  the  cafe,  hot  and  angry, 
leaving  his  dinner  half  eaten.  After  that  I  let 
Master  Jimty  alone.  While  I  reserved  to  my 
self  the  right  to  believe  that  Miss  Herrick 
would  have  indubitably  followed  her  mother 
but  for  the  thorough  measures  which  Jimty 
now  characterized  as  unnecessary  and  ridicu 
lous,  I  am  quite  old  enough  to  avoid  argument 
with  a  young  man  whose  self-consciousness  is 
wounded,  and  also  to  hold  my  laughter  in  check 
until  the  door  closes  between  him  and  me. 

"During  this  time  a  search  for  Mr.  Stone 
was  being  quietly  made  in  every  direction  by 
Jimty  and  myself.  To  my  satisfaction,  it  also 
developed  that  Herrick  seemed  to  feel  a  certain 
responsibility  in  the  matter.  He  sent  for  Jim 
ty  at  his  office  several  times  to  ask  what  news 
he  had,  and  finally,  as  the  days  went  by  with 
no  news  whatever,  went  so  far  as  to  offer  to 
engage  a  private  detective  at  his  own  expense. 
This  Jimty  refused  decidedly. 

" '  Father  would  never  forgive  it,'  he  said. 

"  '  You  needn't  tell  him,'  Herrick  suggested. 

"  But  Jimty  shook  his  head,  remarking,  in  his 
serious  way,  that  he  had '  tried  not  telling  father 
once  too  often.' 

"  Herrick  laid  his  big  hands  down  on  the 
table  and  laughed.  He  had  followed  us  here 
to  the  cafe  to  make  this  offer,  and  was  dining 
with  us.  Jimty's  seriousness  always  seemed 
to  amuse  him. 

40 


JIMTY 

"  '  Your  father's  general  habits  of  life  ought 
to  give  us  a  hint  to  begin  with,'  he  said,  looking 
at  the  son  with  a  question  in  his  eye. 

" '  Father  never  sprees,'  said  Jimty,  in  his 
own  vernacular,  and  Herrick  laughed  again. 

"  '  Well,'  he  said,  '  if  that's  the  case,  and  it's 
to  be  a  still  -  hunt,  you  can  count  me  in.  I'll 
find  him  for  you.  I  never  made  up  my  mind 
to  get  anything  on  this  earth  that  I  didn't  gain 
it  sooner  or  later — sometimes  too  late.' 

"  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  his  dead  wife. 
Herrick  was  in  his  way  as  curious  a  mixt 
ure  of  feeling  and  harshness  as  Mr.  Stone  of 
worthlessness  and  nobility. 

"  From  that  time  on  Herrick's  spirit  of  com- 
bativeness  seemed  roused,  and  it  was  his  in 
domitable  will  and  plotting  mind  that  convert 
ed  the  search  for  Mr.  Stone  into  an  organized 
effort,  such  as  Jimty  and  I  could  never  have 
made  it.  I  saw  then  how  the  man  had  forced 
his  way  up  through  the  world.  His  powers 
were  only  strengthened  by  failures,  and  we 
kept  failing  all  along  the  line.  Every  trail  we 
followed  ended  in  a  lost  scent.  Finally,  after 
all  our  labors,  it  was  left  to  that  miserable  lit 
tle  newsboy  to  give  us  the  clew.  He  knows 
his  city  as  a  rat  its  holes.  One  night,  when  the 
three  of  us  were  dining  here  together  (Herrick 
had  formed  the  habit  of  dropping  in  occasion 
ally  on  his  way  home),  I  saw  madame  glance 
over  at  us  from  her  perch.  Now  madame,  as  a 
41 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

fixed  rule,  keeps  her  expressive  eyes  to  herself. 
They  are  generally  behind  her  lowered  white 
lids.  She  was  talking  to  the  newsboy  —  had 
drawn  him  into  her  proscenium-box,  in  fact — 
and  was  standing  with  her  hand  on  his  shoul 
der,  evidently  questioning  him,  for  he  was 
squirming  uneasily.  The  gamin  hates  ques 
tions,  as  does  any  other  man  of  the  world. 
Madame  raised  her  lids  again,  and  with  her 
eyes  beckoned  monsieur,  who  came  to  her  at 
once.  They  whispered  together,  still  holding 
the  child.  Then  monsieur's  hand  replaced  ma- 
dame's  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  he  was  steer 
ed  unwillingly  towards  our  table.  They  are 
the  most  discreet  couple  I  ever  met,  monsieur 
and  madame.  I  had  not  known  that  madame 
realized  Mr.  Stone's  disappearance.  She  had 
never  shown  any  consciousness  of  his  presence 
as  an  established  guest,  barring  the  grave  bow 
she  gives  to  all  regular  comers.  Monsieur,  I 
knew,  was  more  or  less  interested  in  our  search, 
for  he  had  singled  out  Jimty  as  the  one  being 
on  whom  to  bestow  more  than  an  impersonal 
and  business-like  attention.  The  boy  had  a 
wonderfully  unconscious  power  of  attracting 
his  fellow-beings  of  all  classes  and  kinds,  wit 
ness  Mrs.  Stone,  Herrick,  monsieur,  and  my 
self.  Every  day,  as  monsieur  passed  our  table, 
he  would  pause  an  instant  at  Jimty's  side,  and 
with  his  hand  behind  his  back,  ask,  in  a  low 
voice,  if  he  had  any  news ;  then,  at  Jimty's 
42 


JIMTY 

answer,  he  would  cluck  sympathetically  in  his 
throat  and  pass  on.  I  don't  know  how  he  di 
vined  our  anxiety  over  Mr.  Stone,  for  we  had 
cooked  up  a  fable  concerning  his  absence  with 
which  to  meet  inquirers  at  the  cafe.  I  think 
now  that  madame  was  monsieur's  informant. 
I  have  gained  faith  in  her  sphinx-like  omni 
science  since  the  night  she  sent  the  little  news 
boy  travelling  down  the  room  to  us  under 
monsieur's  hand. 

'  This  child  has  seen  him,'  whispered  mon 
sieur,  and  with  Gallic  breeding  instantly  re 
tired.  The  boy  stood  blinking  at  us,  and  Her- 
rick  fell  on  him  at  once  with  brusque  questions, 
to  which  he  got  sulky,  half-scared  replies.  Yet 
the  child  insisted,  with  funny  little  noddings 
of  his  head,  that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Stone  the 
night  before. 

"  '  Ze  gentleman  like  zis,'  he  said,  and  set  his 
crooked  little  forefinger  over  his  stubby  nose, 
which  immediately  became  Mr.  Stone's  beak. 
Herrick  roared  with  laughter.  Jimty  reached 
past  him,  and  drawing  the  boy  to  himself,  whis 
pered  to  him,  and  gave  him  some  coins,  at 
which  the  child  looked  full  in  his  face  with  his 
black  eyes  and  said  : 

"  '  Yes,  I  seen  him  at  ze  zeatre-house  when  I 
sells  ze  papers.  He  was ' — he  darted  a  glance 
across  at  Herrick  and  went  on  glibly — '  he  was 
selling  ze  tickets  at  ze  door.' 

"  While  Jimty  was  trying  to  arrive  at  the 
43 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

location  of  '  ze  zeatre,'  I  leaned  towards  Her- 
n'ck. 

"  '  That  child  is  lying,'  I  whispered. 

"  '  Of  course,'  he  answered  ;  '  but  we  may  as 
well  look  there  as  anywhere.  I  know  the  place 
he  means,  or  know  of  it.  It's  a  kind  of  beer- 
garden.' 

"  To  the  kind  of  beer-garden  we  went,  Jimty 
walking  between  Herrick  and  me,  an  impatient 
half-step  ahead.  The  strain  of  his  father's  dis 
appearance  had  changed  him  in  some  ways  for 
the  better.  His  face  was  thinner,  and  had  in  a 
measure  lost  its  boyish  look,  and  he  was  more 
alert  in  body  and  mind.  As  we  neared  the 
building  he  left  us  and  ran  forward,  pushing 
open  the  big  double  door  of  the  beer-garden 
entrance,  and  walking  up  to  the  ticket -win 
dow,  where  I  think  he  was  as  confident  of 
looking  through  the  opening  into  his  father's 
face  as  if  he  had  already  seen  him.  When  we 
came  near,  it  was  to  discover  an  individual 
as  wholly  unlike  Mr.  Stone  as  was  Jimty  him 
self,  raking  in  the  admissions  with  soiled,  fat 
hands.  He  rapped  on  the  window-ledge  cross 
ly  at  the  boy,  who  stood  gaping.  Herrick  laid 
a  note  on  the  ledge,  and  held  up  three  fingers 
over  Jimty's  back. 

" '  The  little  boy  lied,'  he  said,  gathering  in 
his  change.  '  I  thought  so.  But  we  might  as 
well  go  in.' 

"  Inside  we  found  a  large,  gaudily  tricked- 
44 


JIMTY 

out  room,  with  small  round  tables  scattered 
about  holding  beer -glasses  and  lounging  el 
bows.  Men,  women,  and  children  were  pres 
ent,  but  the  greater  number  of  the  last  two 
were  crowded  on  rows  of  benches  set  before  a 
green-curtained  platform.  Some  performance 
was  evidently  about  to  begin.  We  chose  a  re 
mote  table,  gave  an  order  for  beer,  and  waited, 
Herrick  and  I  looking  about  us  carefully.  Jim- 
ty  dully  followed  our  lead.  His  disappoint 
ment  at  the  ticket  -  window  seemed  to  have 
deeply  depressed  him. 

"  '  I  still  think  that  child  was  telling  half  the 
truth,'  said  Herrick.  '  I  frightened  the  other 
half  away  from  him.  We'll  get  some  clew  here, 
if  nothing  else.' 

"  But  Jimty  glanced  about  the  room,  shak 
ing  his  head  ;  and  while  I  agreed  with  Herrick 
in  thinking  the  newsboy  was  concealing  some 
thing  he  was  afraid  to  tell,  I  also  agreed  with 
Jimty  in  thinking  that  Mr.  Stone  could  have 
no  part  or  lot  in  such  an  assemblage,  composed 
chiefly  of  German-Americans,  respectable,  bour 
geois,  and  just  escaping  vulgarity.  The  enter 
tainment  provided,  while  harmless  in  its  way, 
was  in  touch  with  the  audience.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  cheap  music  and  shifting  colored 
lights  and  general  buffoonery.  The  first  rising 
of  the  curtain  revealed  a  skirt-dancer,  a  Made 
moiselle  La  Ree,  '  creatress  of  all  she  does,'  as 
the  programme  assured  us.  The  girl  danced 

45 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

well  and  gracefully,  changing  herself  at  will 
from  a  misty  butterfly  to  a  writhing  serpent 
or  a  kaleidoscopic  figure  by  a  twirl  of  her  vo 
luminous  skirts.  I  knew  Jimty  had  never  seen 
a  skirt -dancer  before,  but  it  failed  to  rouse 
him.  Herrick,  it  appeared,  had  never  seen  one 
either.  His  daily  life  of  business  excitement, 
he  said,  made  domesticity  his  chosen  relaxa 
tion.  He  watched  Mademoiselle  La  Ree  with 
contemptuous  interest.  She  was  followed  by 
the  dullest  and  dreariest  kind  of  songs  and 
dances,  of  varying  nationalities  ;  but  we  sat 
through  it  all,  and  were  rewarded  at  last  by 
what  brought  a  smile  even  to  Jimty's  gloom. 
Six  negro  minstrels  stepped  out  on  the  stage. 
The  deception  of  the  blacking  and  general 
make-up  was  so  clever  I  thought  them  all  Afri 
cans,  until  Jimty,  more  experienced  in  the  race 
look,  pointed  out  to  me  that  the  two  end  men 
were  white.  After  the  usual  passing  of  songs 
and  jokes,  one  of  the  end  men  told  a  foolish 
story,  challenging  the  other  to  cap  it,  so  the  sec 
ond  man  stepped  forward  and  began  to  speak 
in  a  droning,  irresistibly  comic  singsong.  Her 
rick  and  I  looked  across  the  table  at  each  other. 
Jimty  rose  to  his  feet.  It  was  the  story  of  the 
Transparent  Mocking-Birds  and  Glass  Snakes. 

"  '  That's  my  father's  story,'  said  Jimty.    '  He 
is  here  somewhere.' 

"  On  either  side  we  caught  Jimty's  arms  and 
forced  him  back  in  his  chair. 
46 


JIMTY 

"  '  Where  are  you  going  ?'  said  Herrick. 

" '  To  ask  where  my  father  is,  of  course. 
There's  the  back  door  ;  let  me  go.' 

"  I  could  not  find  words  or  heart  to  tell  him. 
Herrick  blurted  it  out. 

" '  Be  still,  boy,'  he  whispered  ;  '  that  is  your 
father.' 

"  I  felt  Jimty  start  and  quiver  under  my 
hands. 

" '  It  is  not !'  he  exclaimed  ;  but  he  sat  quiet, 
staring  at  the  platform. 

"  The  story  was  rising  from  absurdity  to  ab 
surdity,  the  audience  applauding  with  wild  cat 
calls  and  shrieking  with  laughter.  There  was 
but  one  being  in  the  world  who  could  tell  that 
particular  story  in  that  particular  way.  Dis 
guised  as  he  was  by  paint  and  wig  and  black 
ened  face,  this  delight  of  a  third-rate  audience, 
the  evident  drawing-card  of  the  management, 
the  end  man  of  a  negro-minstrel  troupe,  was  old 
Mr.  Stone. 

"Jimty's  head  bent  lower  and  lower.  An 
expression  of  pitiful  humiliation  was  creeping 
like  a  blush  over  his  face. 

"'Well,'  said  Herrick,  finally,  'the  old  man  is 
doing  the  only  thing  on  earth  he  knows  how 
to,  and,  by  George  !  I  respect  him  for  it.' 

"Jimty  turned  away,  dropping  his  arms  on 
the  table  and  hiding  his  face  in  them.     For  a 
while  we  sat  silent.     I  signed  to  Herrick  to  let 
him  be,  but  he  would  not,  and  bent  forward. 
47 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

" '  This  is  all  nonsense,'  he  said  ;  '  don't  take 
it  so  hard.  There  is  no  shame  in  it,  my  boy  ; 
and  if  there  were ' — for  the  first  time  I  heard 
his  hard  voice  soften  ;  he  laid  his  great  arm 
across  Jimty's  shoulders  —  'if  there  were,  I 
have  a  cloak  waiting  for  you  at  home  that 
would  cover  everything.' 

"  That's  all,"  said  the  Major.  "  You  have 
heard  the  whole  story  now,  and  you  saw 
the  finale  at  the  church  this  morning.  Ad 
dition  /"  This  last  to  his  waiter,  who  hur 
ried  off,  calling  "Addition!"  in  his  turn  to 
madame,  who  made  out  the  account  at  her 
stand. 

But  I  objected.  "Major,"  I  said,  "you  have 
not  told  me  all.  How  did  Mr.  Herrick  know 
the  coat  was  Jimty's  unless  you  betrayed 
him  ?" 

"  I  ?  Oh  no.  The  girl  recognized  him  at  a 
glance  as  she  passed  him  in  the  office,  and  told 
her  father.  I  believe  women  see  more  with 
their  eyes  half  shut  than  we  with  ours  wide 
open.  Jimty  was  such  an  innocent  it  was  easy 
for  a  man  like  Herrick  to  get  enough  corrobo 
rating  testimony  from  him  without  his  realiz 
ing  it.  That  was  the  cause  of  Herrick's  sudden 
interest  in  the  search  for  old  Mr.  Stone.  He 
waited  for  his  own  time  to  speak.  That  was 
like  Herrick.  What  of  the  old  man  ?"  The 
Major  laughed.  "Well,  do  you  know,  :t  was  a 
month  before  we  could  persuade  him  to  leave 
48 


'/MR.    STONE   IS   NOW   A    SEMI-PROFESSIONAL 
RACONTEUR ' " 


JIMTY 

his  minstrel  company.  He  insisted  that  from 
never  having  a  dime  in  his  pocket  he  now  had 
dollars,  and  that  he  liked  his  new-found  inde 
pendence.  The  truth  is,  backbone  was  a  heri 
tage  in  that  family.  Mr.  Stone  had  only  mis 
laid  his  for  threescore  years  or  so.  *  I  couldn't 
help  respecting  his  resolution  from  his  point  of 
view.  Herrick  would  only  laugh  and  cheer  the 
old  man  on,  but  Jimty  was  so  distressed  we 
finally  hit  on  a  compromise.  Jimty  persuaded 
his  father  to  meet  us  half-way,  while  Herrick 
and  I  arranged  the  sordid  details.  Mr.  Stone 
is  now  a  semi-professional  raconteur,  rather  the 
fashion  for  select  half-literary  entertainments. 
You  may  stumble  on  him  some  night.  If  you 
do,  make  him  tell  the  tale  of  the  Glass  Snakes 
and  Transparent  Mocking-Birds.  It  was  that 
story,  by-the-way,  which  gained  him  the  place 
in  the  minstrel  troupe.  The  manager  over 
heard  him  telling  it  at  the  cafe,  and  made  over 
tures.  Do  you  know,  my  friend,  that  we  are  the 
only  guests  left  in  this  room,  and  that  madame 
is  growing  restless  ?" 

It  was  true.  I  saw  madame's  eyes.  They 
were  expressive.  We  rose  and  wound  our 
way  among  the  little  tables  towards  the 
door. 

"  My  hat,  Jean,"  said  the  Major.  "  Good-day, 
madame,  monsieur." 

Our  feet  grated  on  the  sand  at  the  door-sill. 
I  looked  back  from  the  pavement  to  see 
D  49 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

madame  following  monsieur  to  the  open  vesti 
bule.  Together  they  set  in  place  the  little 
wire  grating  that  proclaimed  the  luncheon  hour 
over. 


THE   PRICE   OF  PEACE 

"  Turn,  good  wheel,  with  humming  sound." 

—  The  Flying  Dutchman. 

IN  a  corner  near  my  fireplace  stands  an  old 
spinning-wheel,  on  the  body  of  which  two  large 
letters  are  carved — "  D.  W.,"  the  mark  of  the 
maker.  The  wheel  is  silent  and  decrepit,  its 
useful  days  long  past.  Spin  it  never  will  again ; 
yet  whenever  I  look  at  it  standing  there  in  its 
corner,  the  foot-worn  treadle  rises,  the  wheel 
hums,  and  for  me  spins  this  : 

"  Oh,  Reuben,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  "  ef  that  sight 
don't  make  my  very  blood  boil.  No,  don't  you 
look.  Keep  yer  eyes  on  the  mare,  and  I  will, 
too  ;  then  maybe  Sarah  will  think  we  didn't 
see  her.  Drive  fast,  Reuben,  and  don't  look." 

Reuben  Grey  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  mare's 
ears,  and  gingerly  beat  her  lazy  back  with  his 
worn-out  whip. 

"  Say  somethin'  to  me  as  we  pass,  Reuben," 
whispered  Mrs.  Grey  ;  "  it  '11  look  more  nach- 
eral." 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Reuben's  mouth  worked  foolishly,  but  no 
words  came. 

"  Now  we  have  passed  her,"  said  his  wife, 
with  a  breath  of  relief  as  the  buggy  jogged 
on  ;  "  but  yer  didn't  say  a  word,  Reuben." 

"  To  save  my  life,  I  couldn't  think  o'  any 
thing  ter  say.  I  never  can  when  folks  come  on 
me  sudden." 

"  Then  you  might  ha'  said  that.  What  I  didn't 
want  yer  to  look  at  was  pore  Sarah.  Dan'l  Whip 
has  got  her  settin'  up  beside  him  on  the  roof 
of  Mr.  Buzzard's  house  while  he's  mendin'  the 
chimbleys.  It's  a  shame,  it  is." 

Reuben  turned  around  in  his  seat  to  look 
back. 

"  Now,  Reuben,"  cried  Mrs.  Grey,  "  yer've 
done  it  after  all,  and  o'  course  she  saw  yer !" 

Reuben  was  shaking  the  buggy  with  his 
laughter. 

"  Ef  that  don't  beat  all !"  he  cried.  "  I  heard 
Dan'l  Whip  was  doin'  that  to  Sarah,  but  I  didn't 
ha'f  b'lieve  it.  Got  her  h'isted  up  there  on  the 
roof,  sittin'  in  a  chair  at  her  knittin'!  Oh, 
my!" 

He  beat  his  knee  gently  with  his  huge, 
doubled-up  fist,  which  was  no  larger  than  his 
big  heart.  "  Pore  Sarah,"  he  said ;  "  pore  Sarah ! 
An'  'tain't  as  ef  he  did  it  for  fondness." 

"  Fondness  !  He  jes  does  it  to  be  hateful, 
Reuben.  I  al'ays  feel  'bout  him  jes  like  I  do 
of  a  bat,  that  ain't  bird  nor  beast,  but  a  kinder 
52 


THE   PRICE   OF  PEACE 

crawlin'  vermin.     Dan'l  Whip  certainly  ain't  a 
man." 

"  That  ain't  any  fault  o'  his.  He  was  born 
like  that,  Mary,  honey — all  humped  together. 
I've  been  thinkin'  these  years  here  lately  that 
he's  been  gettin'  shorter,  an'  it  ain't  onreason- 
able  that  his  temper  should  shorten,  too.  I 
don't  hold  Dan'l  Whip  full  respons'ble." 

Mrs.  Grey  shook  her  head.  "  I  ain't  so  sure, 
Reuben.  He's  cute  enough  'bout  thinkin'  up 
new  ways  to  be  hateful.  This  haulin'  pore 
Sarah  up  onter  roofs  when  he's  chimbleys  to 
mend,  now,  who'd  'a'  thought  o'  that  but  Dan'l 
Whip  ?  The  only  holiday  she  had  was  when 
he  was  up  on  roofs  ;  while  he's  makin'  spinnin'- 
wheels  at  home  he  has  her  under  hack  all  the 
time.  What  in  the  world  made  her  marry  him 
I  don't  know." 

Reuben  stretched  out  his  hand  to  catch  a 
wisp  of  sweet  hay  that  hung  on  a  low  branch. 
The  road  was  narrow,  and  ran  between  intrud 
ing  bushes.  The  fingerlike  twigs  had  snatch 
ed  part  of  its  load  from  a  passing  hay-wagon, 
which  could  be  heard  rumbling  on  ahead.  Se 
lecting  a  juicy-looking  straw,  Reuben  took  it 
between  his  teeth,  chewing  its  sweetness  as 
meditatively  as  a  cow  might.  He  leaned  back 
in  the  buggy,  bracing  his  feet  against  the  worn 
dash  -  board,  which  showed  marks  of  having 
thus  braced  them  for  years.  The  reins  fell  in 
loops  from  the  horse's  neck. 
53 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  When  Dan'l  Whip  married,"  said  Reuben, 
"  folks  talked  the  other  way.  His  body  warn't 
much,  to  be  shore,  an'  his  head  was  'bout  as 
big  as  the  biggest  watermillon  you  ever  saw, 
like  it  is  now,  an'  his  eyes  was  just  as  squeeched 
up.  But  talk  !  He  could  talk  like  a  book.  We 
all  thought  he'd  be  a  somebody,  and  Sarah 
warn't  nothin'  but  a  field-hand.  She  was  reap- 
in'  in  my  father's  field  when  Dan'l  first  saw  her. 
'  Dan'l  Whip,'  says  my  father,  '  what  on  airth 
are  you  goin'  to  marry  a  girl  out  the  field  fur?' 
You  see  how  folks  felt  about  it.  '  I'm  sick  o' 
boardin','  says  Dan'l.  '  I  want  a  home  -  table. 
She  re'p'  like  a  man,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  marry 
her.'  " 

Mrs.  Grey's  soft  brows  knit.  "  She's  as  strong 
as  a  man  now,  Reuben  ;  that's  what  gets  to  me. 
Dan'l  don't  more  'n  come  up  to  her  waist ;  she 
could  pick  him  up  under  her  arm  an'  walk  right 
off  with  him." 

"Well,  she  don't  do  it,  nor  nothin'  like  it," 
said  Reuben.  He  lowered  his  voice  :  "  Mary, 
did  you  ever  hear  that  story  'bout  Dan'l  Whip 
an'  Sarah  an'  a  table  ?  I  jes  pooh-poohed  it  at 
the  store  when  I  heard  it,  but  it  do  seem  kinder 
cur'ous,  the  way  Sarah  jumps  an'  runs  an' 
tumbles  over  herself  whenever  Dan'l  Whip  says 
'  Come."  " 

Mrs.  Grey  pursed  up  her  lips.  "  Reuben, 
you  know  I  ain't  one  to  gossip.  That  I  knew 
this  thing  for  weeks,  and  said  nothin'  'bout  it 
54 


THE   PRICE  OF  PEACE 

to  yer,  shows  that.  My  cousin  Lyddy  ain't  one 
to  gossip  either.  She  oughtn't  to  ha'  told  her 
husband,  an'  then  it  wouldn't  'a'  leaked  out  at 
the  store." 

Reuben  looked  up,  his  blue  eyes  full  of  inter 
est.  "  That  come  from  Lyddy,  did  it  ?  Then 
it's  got  to  be  true." 

"  It's  as  true  as  sin,  an'  more  disgraceful. 
Lyddy  says  she  saw  Sarah  walkin'  roun'  an' 
roun'  that  table,  cryin'  kinder  sof  and  wringin' 
her  hands,  while  Dan'l  Whip  stood  in  the  mid 
dle  beatin'  her  with  a  leather  strap." 

Reuben's  jaw  dropped.  "  My  goodness,  Mary ! 
that's  a'  awful  thing.  Somebody  ought  to  stop 
it.  But  what  I  don't  see  is  why  Sarah  don't  stop 
it  herse'f.  What  made  her  walk  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  ast  Lyddy.  She  says  at  first 
she  believed  he  must  'a'  had  her  held  by  a  hal 
ter  ;  but  there  warn't  nothin'  at  all  holdin' 
Sarah  but  Dan'l  Whip's  will.  Ain't  that  awful, 
Reuben  ?" 

"  Ha-a,"  said  Reuben,  moving  his  feet  un 
easily/' it  makes  me  crawl.  But,  Mary,  honey, 
I'm  'fraid  yer  '11  think  I'm  sorter  heartless,  for 
I  do  think  I'm  goin'  to  laf  in  a  minit.  Sarah 
she's  so  everlastin'  big,  and  Dan'l  he's  little 
enough  to  have  ter  crawl  on  a  table  ter  reach  her. 
Don't  you  see  yerse'f  it's  sorter  funny,  Mary?" 

His  clean-shaven  lip  twitched  as  his  laugh 
ter  came  and  possessed  him.    Mrs.  Grey  looked 
at  her  husband  unsmilingly. 
55 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  to  laugh  at,  Reuben  Grey. 
Lyddy  wasn't  laughin'  any  ;  she  said  it  was  a 
sight  to  cry  over." 

"  What  I'm  studyin'  over  is  how  Lyddy  saw 
it,"  ruminated  Reuben. 

"  Lyddy,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  with  a  slight  em 
barrassment,  "  was  on  her  way  to  see  Sarah  ; 
but  when  she  got  to  Dan'l  Whip's,  an'  heard 
this  kinder  cryin'  sound,  she  didn't  like  to 
knock.  There's  a  slat  out  o'  one  o'  Dan'l 
Whip's  shutters  on  the  left  side  the  house,  an' 
when  Lyddy  once  looked  through  that  crack 
she  didn't  want  to  do  any  knockin'.  Don't 
you  reckon  it's  water  that  mare's  wantin', 
Reuben  ?" 

The  mare  was  turning  her  head  longingly 
towards  the  road  -  side,  where  a  weak  little 
stream,  trickling  down  the  hill  and  under  the 
matted  underwood,  was  led  by  a  split  log  into 
a  half-sunk  barrel.  There  was  no  check-rein 
to  the  rope-pieced  harness.  Reuben  had  only 
to  sit  still  in  the  buggy  and  give  the  mare  her 
way.  As  it  was  a  warm  day,  she  drew  in  the 
water  gratefully  with  deep,  whistling  sounds. 

"  Mary,"  said  Reuben,  turning  to  his  wife, 
his  face  working  with  laughter,  "  I've  been 
kinder  keepin'  somethin'  'bout  Dan'l  Whip  to 
myself,  but  I  can't  keep  it  no  longer.  You  re 
member  the  mornin',  a  week  back,  when  he 
came  out  from  town  in  sech  a  hurry  to  see 
me  ?  Well,  what  yer  s'pose  he  wanted  ?  '  Mr. 
56 


THE   PRICE   OF   PEACE 

Grey/  says  he,  whisperin', '  will  you  kindly  lend 
me  twenty  dollars  ?'  " 

"La,  Reuben,"  Mrs.  Grey  interrupted,  "what 
did  he  want  it  fer  ?" 

"  That  was  what  I  ast  him,  an'  you  could  ha' 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather  when  he  tol' 
me  he  wanted  to  buy  a  divorce  from  Sarah." 

"  Sarah  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Grey.  "  Why,  she's 
the  only  thing  keeps  folks  anyways  decent  to 
him.  Dan'l  Whip  must  be  losin'  his  mind." 

"  Egzactly  what  I  says  to  him.  '  Dan'l,'  I 
says, '  Sarah's  shorely  been  a  good  wife  to  you." 
'  I  know,'  says  he,  still  whisperin' ;  l  but  there's 
a  lawyer  parsin'  thro'  town,  an'  he  tells  me  he 
can  make  a  divorce  for  twenty  dollars.  Ain't 
that  the  cheapest  thing,  Mr.  Grey?  I'll  never 
get  a  bargain  like  that  agin,'  says  he ;  '  an'  I 
want  you  to  lend  me  the  money  for  it.  I'll  pay 
you  back.' " 

' '  No,  Dan'l  Whip,'  says  I,  '  you  certainly 
won't,  fer  I  ain't  goin'  to  lend  it  to  you  first. 
You  ought  to  be  'shamed  o'  yerse'f,'  I  says ; 
but  I  laffed  so  he  went  off  ragin'.  There  must 
be  somethin'  kinder  ridic'lous  to  me  in  ev'ry- 
thing  Dan'l  Whip  does,  Mary.  I  laffed  to  my 
self  all  the  week  at  that,  an'  it  makes  me  laf 
now  to  think  o'  it.  Buyin'  a  divorce  jes  'cause 
it's  cheap!  Like  that  stovepipe  hat  you  got 
fer  me  some  ten  years  back  'cause  it  was  sech 
a  bargain.  It's  been  in  the  garret  ever  sence, 
'ain't  it?"  Reuben  pulled  the  flapping  felt  hat 
57 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

he  always  wore  deeper  over  his  brows,  beneath 
which  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  alike  between  'em,"  said 
Mrs.  Grey,  stiffly. 

Her  husband  tightened  the  reins  and  "  cluck 
ed  "  to  his  mare.  "  Maybe  there  ain't,  honey," 
he  said,  as  they  wound  down  the  river-side  road 
again. 

Between  the  little  town  of  Riverton,  which 
the  pair  were  leaving,  and  their  farm  ran  the 
South  Branch  of  the  Potomac,  brawling,  noisy, 
and  rapid,  ever  quarrelling  with  its  banks,  too 
often  rising  in  wrath  to  sweep  over  them, 
carrying  destruction  for  lines  of  high  corn  and 
low-lying  wheat-fields.  If  the  South  Branch, 
with  its  rich  alluvial  banks  and  wealth  of 
fishes,  were  more  his  friend  or  his  enemy, 
Reuben  Grey  had  yet  to  decide.  He  was 
thinking  of  this  as  he  looked  down  at  the 
waters  rushing  by  on  the  right  side  of  the 
road.  On  the  left  bank  the  great  gray  "  hang 
ing  rocks"  arched  high  above  them,  holding 
in  every  crevice  where  earth  could  gather  the 
hanging  plant  of  the  region,  its  gay  pink  head 
drooping  and  swinging  against  the  gray  wall 
with  every  wind.  A  hundred  feet  beyond  the 
hanging  rocks  lay  the  ford,  good  or  bad  as  the 
South  Branch  willed.  On  this  day  the  ford 
happened  to  be  kind,  but  Mrs.  Grey  breathed 
more  freely  as  the  mare  emerged  dripping  on 
the  other  side. 

58 


THE   PRICE   OF  PEACE 

"  It  seems  like  I  never  can  get  used  to  that 
gratin'  sound  of  the  wheels  on  the  pebbles 
when  the  current  gets  to  pullin'  so  hard  mid 
stream,  Reuben,"  she  said.  "The  mare's  real 
frisky  to-day,  ain't  she  ?  Why,  whatever  ails 
her  now  ?" 

"  She's  scared  of  that  thing  comin'  down  the 
road,"  answered  Reuben.  "  Wo',  Molly  !  It 
ain't  nothin',  you  foolish  woman.  I'm  blessed 
ef  I  know  what  it  is  myself  though,  Mary." 

Straight  down  the  road  a  feather-bed,  topped 
by  some  pillows  and  colored  comforts,  seemed 
to  be  speeding  directly  towards  them,  and  with 
no  perceptible  means  of  locomotion  ;  but  as  it 
drew  nearer  a  pair  of  unsteady,  bandy  legs 
could  be  distinguished  sticking  out  from  the 
bottom  of  the  pile. 

"  Oh,  my  !"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  wofully  ;  "  I  know 
what  it  is.  It's  Uncle  Sam  moving  into  his 
cabin  again." 

As  she  spoke  the  object  turned,  and,  waver 
ing  as  one  of  those  tormented  beetles  over 
whose  backs  children  delight  to  clasp  pea-pods, 
moved  from  the  road  to  a  tiny  log  cabin  set  in 
the  bushes.  Through  the  open  door  of  the 
cabin,  after  much  backing  and  pushing,  the 
feather-bed  vanished.  When  the  buggy  passed 
the  door  was  closed. 

"  There,"  sighed  Mrs.  Grey  ;  "  he's  shut  in 
again  for  days,  I  s'pose,  an'  all  his  work  lyin'. 
I  wisht  to  mercy  your  mother  was  alive,  Reu- 
59 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

ben  ;  or  else  I  wisht  she'd  taken  off  all  the  old 
negroes  with  her.  To  this  day  I  ain't  anythin' 
but  the  '  young  mistis '  to  them,  an'  they  don't 
heed  a  word  I  say.  I'm  gettin'  perfectly  sick 
of  it.  You  ought  never  to  have  let  Sam  build 
that  cabin,  Reuben." 

"  Oh,  it  don't  matter  any.  You  take  the  ole 
niggers  too  hard,  Mary,  honey.  Sam  he  likes 
to  have  a  kinder  hole  o'  his  own  to  crawl  inter 
when  he  gets  mad." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  cabin's  his  any  more  'n 
his  room  at  the  house  is,  Reuben.  He's  made 
it  outer  your  timber,  an'  set  it  on  your  land." 

"  What's  started  him  now  ?" 

"There  hasn't  anythin'  happened  but  jes 
what  he  deserved.  He's  taken  to  lyin'  in  bed 
here  lately  deep  inter  the  mornin',  an'  when  he 
chooses  to  get  up,  Ozalla  she  will  cook  a  red- 
hot  breakfast  for  him.  To-day  I  jes  stopped 
her,  an'  put  by  some  cold  victuals  for  Sam.  He 
was  as  impident  when  he  saw  the  plate !  He 
went  r'arin'  'roun'  the  kitchen,  tellin'  me  he 
warn't  goin'  to  make  a  gobbige-box  of  his  stom- 
mick  for  nobody." 

"  I  jes  hope  you  ran  him  out  with  nothin'," 
said  Reuben,  indignantly. 

"  I  had  ter ;  but  I  always  feel  as  if  your 
mother  was  lookin'  down  at  me  when  I  scold 
Sam.  I  can't  bear  to  interfere  with  the  old 
negroes,  they  was  here  so  long  before  me." 

"  Makes  n'  odds,"  said  Reuben,  easily  ;  "  I've 
60 


THE  PRICE   OF  PEACE 

known  Sam  to  keep  mad  for  a  week  after  he'd 
clean  fergot  what  started  him.  He'll  come 
home  ter  -  morrow,  maybe.  The  reapin'-ma- 
chine's  lef  more  or  less  grass  over  there  in 
that  field,  Mary,  'ain't  it  ?  I  reckon  I'll  take 
that  scythe  there  in  the  fence  corner  and  trim 
off  the  stray  locks.  I  never  did  think  much  o' 
machines  anyhow.  You  can  drive  the  buggy 
on  to  the  house.  Holler  for  one  of  the  little 
niggers  to  take  it  when  yer  get  there." 

The  horse  taken  to  the  stable  by  a  "  little 
nigger,"  the  locks  of  grass  shorn,  and  supper 
in  the  farm-house  eaten,  Reuben  Grey  and  his 
wife  sat  together  happily  on  the  vine-covered 
porch  in  the  twilight.  Down  on  the  river-bank 
the  frogs  sang  loudly,  following  their  shrill 
leader.  The  farm-yard  creatures  were  almost 
silenced  for  the  night,  and  Reuben  Grey  him 
self  was  wrapped  in  content.  His  feet,  clad 
only  in  their  stockings,  were  resting  on  the 
rungs  of  his  chair,  which  was  tilted  back  against 
the  side  of  the  house,  his  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
his  wife  was  by  his  side.  What  more  could 
man  desire? 

"  Reuben,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  looking  up  from 
the  knitting  which  she  did  not  need  to  see,  "  I 
do  think  I  hear  somebody  hollering  at  the  ford." 

"  Reckon  not,"  Reuben  answered,  drowsily  ; 
but  as  he  raised  his  head  to  listen  his  chair 
dropped  forward  with  a  jerk ;  he  reached 
quickly  for  his  boots. 

61 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

"  It  sounds  to  me  kinder  like  a  lady,"  he  said, 
drawing  his  boots  half-way  on,  then  rising  to 
stamp  his  feet  deeper  in  before  he  hurried  to 
the  ford.  To  keep  a  lady  waiting  was  not  in 
Reuben's  code.  Mrs.  Grey  could  hear  the  sound 
of  the  pole  scraping  on  the  boat,  and  knew  later 
by  the  voices  on  the  road  that  Reuben  must 
be  bringing  some  one  back  with  him.  As  the 
two  figures  advanced  through  the  dusk  she 
could  not  at  once  recognize  the  face  of  the 
new-comer,  who  seemed  to  hesitate  at  the  steps, 
as  if  doubtful  of  her  welcome. 

"  Here's  Sarah  Whip,  wife,"  said  Reuben  ; 
and  Mrs.  Grey  rose  at  once. 

"  Well,  Sarah  Whip,  I  didn't  know  yer  for  a 
minit,  I  was  so  surprised  !  I'm  real  glad.  You 
haven't  been  on  this  porch  sence — I  do'  know 
when.  Have  yer  had  yer  supper  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Reuben ;  "  she  'ain't  had 
any.  Jes  get  her  some,  Mary.  Set  down 
and  wait  out  here  in  the  cool,  Sarah  —  Mary 
won't  be  a  minit.  Do  you  take  tea  or  cof 
fee  ?" 

"  Coffee  in  general,"  answered  Sarah,  dully ; 
"  but  I  ain't  particklar,  Mrs.  Grey." 

"  Mary's  got  both,"  said  Reuben. 

He  followed  his  wife,  whose  hospitality  had 
already  sent  her  to  the  kitchen.  "Mary, 
honey,"  he  whispered,  "don't  you  hurry  with 
that  supper.  Somethin's  happened,  and  Sarah 
Whip's  got  it  on  her  min'  to  tell.  Jes  let  her 
62 


get  through  oncet,  and  make  her  some  strong 
coffee,  pore  thing." 

He  rambled  out  to  the  porch  again  with  a 
step  always  purposeless,  however  direct  his  aim. 

"Well,  Sarah,  chile,"  he  said,  as  he  seated 
himself. 

Sarah  looked  up.  She  was  a  tall,  fair  woman, 
with  high  cheek-bones,  gentle  blue  eyes,  and 
a  deprecating  expression.  Her  face  began  to 
work  suddenly,  and  she  flung  her  blue  apron 
over  her  head. 

"  I  knowed  there  was  trouble  as  soon  as  I 
saw  you,"  said  Reuben.  "Jes  set  there  and 
let  it  bile  over,  honey.  What's  he  bin  doin'  to 
yer  'sides  settin"  yer  up  on  roofs  ?" 

Sarah  rocked  her  body  to  and  fro,  talking 
through  her  apron.  "  I  tol'  him  you  saw  me 
on  that  roof — I  tol'  him  so.  I  can't  stan'  it  no 
longer.  When  I  runned  out  here  to  the  river 
jes  now  I  didn't  know  ef  it  was  to  th'o'  myself 
in  or  to  holler  to  you.  Then  I  seemed  to  hear 
him  runnin'  after  me,  an'  I  hollered." 

"  You  oughter  'a'  hollered  long  days  before 
this,  Sarah.  Now  you  take  that  thing  offer  yer 
head  an'  listen  to  me.  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  any 
talkin'  round  to  yer,  but  straight  at  yer.  You 
tell  me  ef  this  thing  I  hear  'bout  you  and  Dan'l 
Whip  and  a  table  an'  a  strop  's  true  ?" 

Sarah  dropped  the  apron  as  one  trained  in 
obedience,  but  she  wrung  her  hands  and  rock 
ed  as  she  poured  out  her  story. 
63 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"Yes  ;  it's  true  whenever  he  gets  mad  at  me. 
I'm  'mos'  crazy  with  it  all.  Ef  I  didn't  know 
jes  when  he  was  goin'  to  do  it,  it  wouldn't  come 
so  hard.  But  no  matter  how  early  in  the  day 
he  gets  mad  at  me,  ef  it's  right  after  breakfast, 
he  don't  say  not  one  word  till  night.  He  jes 
waits  till  after  supper,  when  I've  took  the  cloth 
off  the  table  an'  folded  it  an'  put  it  in  the 
dresser  drawer.  Ef  I  hear  a  scramblin'  behind 
me,  then  I  know  it's  him  gettin'  up  on  the 
table ;  nor  he  don't  say  a  word  then,  but  jes 
waits  for  me  to  turn  round  from  the  dresser. 
Sometimes  it's  as  much  as  five  minutes,  it 
seems  to  me,  before  I  kin  turn.  I  jes  keep 
prayin'  there,  '  Lord,  help  me  ;  help  me  to 
bear  it,  Lord';  but  nothin'  don't  help  me." 
Her  voice  rose  to  a  wail.  "Ef  I  don't  walk 
right  around  that  table  like  I  know  he  wants 
me  to,  he  'most  kills  me  when  I  do  come.  Oh, 
I  don't  see  how  I  can  stan'  it  any  more!  I  had 
ter  run  away  ter-night,  an'  I  reckon  he  will 
kill  me  ter-morrow  night  for  doin'  it." 

Reuben  Grey  was  moving  restlessly  in  his 
chair.  "  Sarah,"  he  cried  out,  "  you  ain't  called 
on  to  stan'  it !  Now  you  look  here.  I  ain't  one 
to  run  ag'in  Scripture  ;  I'm  believin'  the  wife 
should  be  subjec'  to  her  husband  ;  but,  honey, 
I've  bin  livin'  in  this  world  some  time,  an'  one 
thing  I've  come  to  see.  I've  come  to  see  it  so 
true  that  I've  done  what  I  reckon  yer  '11  call 
awful  audacious.  I've  made  a  kinder  proverb 
64 


THE  PRICE  OF   PEACE 

of  it,  and  in  my  Bible  I've  added  it  to  the 
proverbs  of  Solomon — in  pencil.  It's  jes  this  : 
'  An'  the  price  o'  peace  may  be  wa-ar — may  be 
wa-ar,' "  he  accented  with  his  earnest  forefin 
ger.  "  I  ain'  tellin'  you  to  do  anythin'  that's 
wrong  when  I  tell  you  this  :  the  nex'  time  you 
know  Dan'l  Whip's  mad,  an'  you  hear  him 
scramblin'  on  to  the  table  behin'  you,  Sarah, 
don't  you  pray  like  yer've  been  a  -  prayin' — 
'Lord,  help  me  to  bear  it';  you  pray  like  this: 
'  Lord  help  me  not  to  bear  this  ondecent  thing; 
for  the  price  of  peace  may  be  wa-ar,  O  Lord, 
wa-ar  !'  You  pray  that  way,  Sarah,  an'  then  you 
turn  roun'  an'  carry  out  the  will  o'  the  Lord 
as  He  puts  it  inter  yer  heart  ter  act.  Now  the 
best  thing  you  kin  do  is  to  eat  yer  supper.  I 
hear  Mary  carryin'  it  in." 

Mrs.  Grey  was  a  good  woman.  She  set  the 
supper  on  the  table,  and  busied  herself  about 
Sarah,  watching  without  a  question  the  poor 
soul  eat  and  choke  and  wipe  her  eyes.  With 
the  good  food,  the  warm  coffee,  and  the  warm 
er  kindness,  Sarah  gradually  took  heart  to 
relish  what  she  ate.  A  contagious  peaceful- 
ness  pervaded  all  of  Reuben  Grey's  surround 
ings. 

"  Eat,  honey,  eat,"  he  urged.  "  Mary  an'  me 
love  to  see  people  eat.  Eat  till  you  bu'st — I 
wisht  yer  would." 

He  laughed  himself  so  heartily  that  Sarah 
had  begun  to  join  timidly  in  his  mirth  when, 

E  65 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

with  a  nice  morsel  half  lifted  to  her  mouth,  she 
dropped  her  fork  on  her  plate. 

"  What  was  that  ?"  she  asked,  trembling. 

As  the  others  listened  the  sound  which  she 
had  heard  was  repeated — a  cry  too  shrill  for  a 
man's  voice,  too  deep  for  a  woman's. 

"  It's  Dan'l  at  the  ford,"  said  Sarah,  desper 
ately,  rising  with  a  moan,  as  beaten  children 
turn  at  call  to  run  screaming  towards  the  fate 
they  dare  not  escape. 

"  Sit  still  there,  Sarah,"  said  Reuben,  sternly; 
"it's  me  Dan'l  Whip's  callin',  an'  it's  me  he'll 
get." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  flapping 
hat,  and  strode  from  the  room.  The  two 
women  followed  him  to  the  porch.  Standing 
there,  they  could  hear  through  the  darkness 
the  beat  of  Reuben  Grey's  heavy  footsteps 
on  the  road,  then  his  powerful  voice :  "  Who's 
callin'  ?" 

Every  word  he  spoke  came  to  them  clearly. 
From  his  replies  they  could  guess  at  the  mean 
ing  of  the  rabbit-like  cries  from  the  other  side 
of  the  river.  Sarah  grasped  Mrs.  Grey's  arm, 
a  liberty  she  would  not  have  dared  to  take  at  a 
less  crucial  moment. 

"Yes,  she's  here!"  shouted  Reuben. 

The  inarticulate  cries  answered.  Then  Reu 
ben's  voice  rose  again  : 

"  No,  Dan'l  Whip  ;  I  can't  pole  over  fer  you 
to-night ;  the  boat's  up." 
66 


THE  PRICE  OF   PEACE 

"  I  tell  yer  she  is  pulled  up." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  to,  then." 

"  I'll  drive  Sarah  in  fust  thing  ter-morrow 
mornin'." 

"  I  don't  care  ef  yer  do  swim  ;  yer  won't 
drown  anybody  but  Dan'l  Whip.  There  ain't 
no  use  bleatin'  at  me  like  that,  Dan'l.  I  said  I 
won't,  and  I  ain't." 

"  Ef  yer  do,  yer  '11  grow  to  the  stone  yer  set- 
tin'  on,  that's  all.  Good-night  to  yer." 

When  Reuben  returned,  Sarah  was  waiting 
for  him,  tremulously  standing  in  the  wedge 
of  light  which  the  open  house  -  door  let  out 
into  the  dark  porch.  Reuben  came  into  the 
light  also,  his  eyes  smiling,  his  head  turning 
from  side  to  side  as  in  some  keen  enjoyment. 
He  was  holding  his  closed  hand  close  to  his 
nose. 

"  Hoi'  out  yer  han',  Sarah,"  he  said.  As 
Sarah  stretched  out  her  shaking  arm,  he  laid 
a  brown,  velvety  blossom  on  her  palm. 

"  There  warn't  but  five  shrubs  lef '  on  the 
bush.  I'm  goin'  to  give  you  two,  Sarah,  an' 
keep  three  fer  myself.  Shrubs  jes  suit  my 
smell.  I  don't  know  nothin'  that  substitutes  a 
shrub  after  it  gets  all  hot  and  smelly  in  yer 
han'.  Come  along,  Sarah  ;  you  finish  yer  sup 
per,  then  ye  're  goin'  right  to  bed  fer  a  good 
night's  rest." 

Sweet,  homespun,  chivalric  soul !  Reuben 
Grey  on  his  mountain -side,  hoeing  his  fields, 
67 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

knew  a  fine  code  that  only  nature  had  taught 
him. 

The  following  morning,  after  the  early  farm 
breakfast,  the  buggy  which  was  to  take  Sarah 
into  Riverton  was  brought  to  the  gate  before 
the  porch.  Reuben  Grey's  eyes  dwelt  with  full 
satisfaction  on  the  dilapidated  vehicle,  the  half- 
groomed  horse,  and  the  makeshift  harness,  but 
not  upon  Ozalla's  boy,  who  stood  at  the  horse's 
head  in  the  place  which  Sam  should  have  occu 
pied. 

"You,  Henery?  Where's  yer  grandad?" 
asked  Reuben. 

Henry's  already  large  upper  lip  swelled  with 
the  smile  it  dared  not  express.  He  ducked  his 
head  into  his  breast. 

"  Gran'fa's  down  in  hes  cabin,"  he  answered. 

That  Sam  was  in  his  cabin,  and  why,  was 
known  to  the  smallest  darky  on  the  farm. 
Mrs.  Grey,  who  was  just  within  the  door,  pack 
ing  a  basket  of  fresh  eggs  for  Sarah,  stepped 
out  to  the  porch.  Her  soft  brow  was  puckered 
and  her  kind  face  troubled. 

"  Reuben,"  she  said,  "  Sam  didn't  come  to  the 
house  fer  his  dinner  nor  supper  yestiddy,  nor 
his  breakfast  to-day.  I  declare,  it  do  worry 
me  so.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  anything  on 
this  place  bein'  hungry." 

Reuben  laughed  at  her.  "  Mary,  honey,  you 
air  so  sof  'bout  them  ol'  negroes.  Don't  you 
bother  'bout  Sam.  Ain't  there  potatoes  in  the 
68 


THE   PRICE  OF  PEACE 

field,  an'  'ain't  he  only  got  to  dig  'em  ?  Ain't 
the  chickens  walkin'  round  as  tame,  an'  'ain't 
he  only  got  to  knock  'em  in  the  haid?  Sam's 
a-takin'  keer  o'  himse'f,  don't  you  fret.  Air 
you  ready,  Sarah  ?" 

Sarah  was  waiting  to  bid  Mrs.  Grey  a  fare 
well  piteous  in  its  tearful  resignation.  Mrs. 
Grey  patted  her  reassuringly  on  the  shoulder 
with  her  motherly  hand. 

"  Pick  up  heart,  Sarah,"  she  said  ;  "  an'  come 
again  some  time  when  there  ain't  no  reason  at 
all  fer  it,  jes  to  talk  a  bit." 

This  was  her  only  reference  to  Sarah's 
trouble.  The  mountain  folk  can  show  a  re 
serve  fine  and  delicate  as  their  cliff  flowers. 

Sarah  climbed  into  the  buggy,  and,  Reuben 
following  her,  they  jogged  down  the  road  tow 
ards  the  unbroken  line  of  green  trees  that 
wound  through  the  farms,  marking  the  river- 
course. 

"  When  Sam  and  I  was  boys,"  said  Reuben 
Grey,  thoughtfully,  talking  half  to  himself  and 
half  to  Sarah,  "  I  kin  jes  remember  worryin' 
for  a  whippin',  an'  my  mother  warn't  one  to 
spare  the  rod  neither.  Many's  the  hot  switch 
Sam  and  me  stood  up  to  together.  She  gen 
erally  licked  us  in  pa'rs ;  fur  ef  one  was  bad, 
she  could  be  pretty  nigh  shore  the  other  put 
him  up  to  it,  ef  he  didn't  do  more.  But  there 
war  times  when  I'd  get  kinder  tired,  an'  didn't 
want  ter  go  on  bein'  bad ;  but  havin'  got 
69 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

started,  I  warn't  goin'  to  stop  short  o'  a  lickin', 
an'  then  I  jes  wearied  fer  it  before  it  come  to 
halt  me  up.  I  use'  t'  think,  Why  on  airth  don't 
they  hurry  up  an'  lick  me  an'  make  me  stop  ?  I 
kin  remember  thinkin'  that  as  well !  It's  help 
ed  me  a  lot  in  dealin'  with  folks  sence,  Sarah. 
It's  kinder  made  me  tol'rant  when  they're  too 
outrageous.  I  jes  think  'bout  them  ol'  days, 
an'  my  blessed  ol'  mother,  an'  that  dear  ol' 
peach-orchard  back  the  house,  full  o'  switches, 
an'  then  I  says  to  myself,  '  Don't  you  be  too 
ha'sh,  Reuben  ;  all  that  pore  soul  wants  is  a 
good  lickin' ;'  an"  then,  ef  I  kin.  I  up  an'  give  it 
to  him,  sometimes  one  way,  sometimes  an 
other.  Now,  Sarah,  you  come  along  here  with 
me ;  I  got  somethin'  to  show  yer  before  yer  go 
home." 

They  had  entered  the  green  belt  edging  the 
river.  The  trees,  arching  over  the  road,  framed 
in  the  ford  and  the  farther  bank,  where  the 
broken  road  rose  again  out  of  the  water.  Near 
the  ford,  set  in  the  dingle,  stood  Sam's  cabin 
with  its  sulkily  closed  door.  Reuben  Grey 
flung  the  reins  over  the  back  of  his  mare,  and 
drew  from  its  socket  the  stubby  whip. 

uW'o',  Molly,"  he  said. 

Molly  stood  quiet  while  her  master  descend 
ed,  followed  by  Sarah,  wonderingly.  Reuben 
walked  straight  to  Sam's  cabin.  He  lifted  the 
butt  of  his  whip  as  if  to  beat  upon  the  door, 
then  changed  his  mind. 
70 


THE   PRICE  OF  PEACE 

"  Sam,"  he  called,  in  a  quick  monosyllable ; 
"Sam!" 

As  if  drawn  by  an  invisible  string,  an  unwill 
ing,  shuffling  step  approached  the  door,  which 
opened  a  crack.  A  white,  rolling  eyeball  peered 
out.  Reuben  made  an  impatient  side  motion 
with  his  head,  and  the  door  swung  wide,  expos 
ing  a  figure  that  might  have  come  off  the  end 
of  a  haymaker's  fork.  Sam's  clothing,  never 
neat,  was  that  of  a  scarecrow  ;  his  gray  locks 
were  a  tousle.  He  stood  with  his  dark  lips 
swelled  out,  his  head  thrust  forward,  his  shifty 
eyes  opening  and  shutting  sulkily.  The  little 
white  goatee  that  stuck  out  from  the  side  of 
his  chin  was  as  crooked  as  his  temper.  Reuben 
scanned  him  over. 

"Well,  Sam,"  he  said,  "you  do  look — " 

Sam  swallowed  resentfully,  drawing  his  feat 
ures  closer  together  after  the  manner  of  a  ter 
rapin  retiring  into  its  shell. 

"  You  see  this,  Sam,"  said  Reuben,  raising 
the  whip  he  held.  Sam  drew  back  a  step, 
blinking.  Reuben  went  on  sternly :  "  What 
I'm  standin'  here  considerin'  is  ef  I  ain't  called 
on  right  now  to  haul  yer  out  o'  there  an'  give 
yer  the  worst  lickin'  yer  ever  had  sence  yer 
was  a  boy.  'Tain't  as  ef  I  was  hankerin'  to  do 
it ;  it's  kinder  hot  to  be  whippin'  to-day.  But 
I  don't  seem  able  to  decide  ef  I  ain't  neglectin' 
a  dooty  in  parsin'  it  by.  There's  jes  one  thing 
yer  kin  be  shore  of,  though :  ef,  when  I  come 
71 


J1MTY,  AND   OTHERS 

out  from  town,  I  stop  here  an'  do  fin'  yer  in 
this  cabin,  hot  nor  nothin'  else  won't  help  yer. 
Min',  I  ain't  sayin'  I  ain't  goin'  to  lick  yer  any 
how  ;  but  ef  yer  are  here  when  I  come  out, 
why,  it  '11  be  right  then  an'  there,  an'  with  this 
very  whip,  yer  '11  get  your  lickin'."  He  cut 
the  stock  through  the  air  in  emphasis.  "  I'm 
goin'  to  hev  peace,  an'  nothin'  else,  on  this  yere 
farm." 

Reuben's  whip  punctuated  forcibly  for  him 
once  more  as  he  stalked  away.  He  did  not 
deign  to  turn  his  head  as  he  moved  to  his 
buggy  ;  but  Sarah,  following  with  less  dignity, 
saw  Sam's  exit  from  the  cabin.  At  a  right 
angle  to  his  master's  footsteps,  with  the  swift, 
loping  run  of  his  race,  which  even  in  his  age 
he  retained,  Sam  was  making  for  the  shelter  of 
the  house. 

"  Look,  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Sarah.  Reuben  look 
ed,  and  a  smile  in  which  there  was  no  surprise 
and  no  unkind  triumph  spread  over  his  feat 
ures. 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  stopping  short  to  speak, 
"  what  did  I  tell  yer  ?  Don't  you  see  how  the 
price  o'  peace  may  be  wa-ar,  honey,  may  be 
wa-ar  ?" 

Peace  had  indeed  returned  to  the  farm  when 
Reuben  came  back  from  his  journey  to  River- 
ton.  The  river  was  sparkling  in  the  sun,  his 
own  fields  lay  smiling  before  him,  Sam  was 
crooning  over  his  work,  and  Mrs.  Grey  wore 
72 


\ 

THE   PRICE   OF   PEACE 

her  most  placid  face.  But  Reuben  himself 
was  disturbed.  All  through  the  day  this  dis 
turbance  grew  upon  him,  and  late  in  the  after 
noon  it  found  utterance. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I'm  jes  thinkin'  I'm  goin' 
to  ask  yer  to  make  supper  a'  hour  earlier  this 
afternoon.  I'm  considerin'  goin'  back  to  River- 
ton.  I  feel  kinder  worried  'bout  Sarah  an' 
Dan'l  Whip." 

Mrs.  Grey  laid  down  her  knitting  to  look 
up.  "Why,  Reuben,  it  ain't  like  you  to  be 
interferin'  with  man  an'  wife.  What  kin  you 
do  ef  Dan'l  chooses  to  beat  Sarah,  and  Sarah 
lets  him  ?" 

"  It  don't  seem  like  I  could  do  nothin',"  an 
swered  Reuben  ;  "  but  I  reckon  I'd  like  supper 
early,  Mary." 

"  Didn't  you  say  Dan'l  Whip  warn't  onpleas- 
ant  this  mornin'  ?" 

"  He  was  pleasant  enough,  all  but  his  eyes. 
He  was  settin'  there,  workin'  away  on  his  spin- 
nin'-wheels.  He  didn't  say  nothin'  at  all  'bout 
Sarah  runnin'  off  last  night.  I'd  'a'  liked  it  bet 
ter  ef  he  had.  I  reckon  I'll  have  supper  early, 
Mary." 

There  was  a  mild  obstinacy  about  Reuben 
which  his  wife  rarely  opposed,  Before  dusk  he 
was  on  his  way  to  Riverton,  and  he  reached 
the  village  by  the  time  the  lamps  began  to 
shine  through  the  windows  into  the  streets. 
Checking  his  mare  before  the  town  store,  Reu- 
73 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

ben  tied  her  at  the  horse-rack  in  company  with 
half  a  dozen  other  nags  and  buggies  of  similar 
dilapidation.  As  he  entered  the  store,  ever 
more  or  less  crowded,  answering  to  the  club 
of  a  higher  civilization,  his  advent  was  loudly 
welcomed ;  but  on  this  occasion  Reuben  con 
fessed  himself  hurried.  He  ordered  a  list  of 
groceries,  to  be  packed  in  his  buggy  against 
his  return,  thus  giving  explanation  for  his  visit 
to  the  populace  waiting  to  receive  this  state 
ment  as  their  due.  His  account  rendered,  he 
was  more  free  for  his  mission,  which  led  him  at 
once  to  Daniel  Whip's  home.  The  Whip  cot 
tage  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  village,  on  a 
side  road. 

"  Here  't  is,"  said  Reuben  to  himself,  as  he 
reached  the  house  and  paused  before  it  thought 
fully.  All  the  shutters  were  closed,  but  a  bright 
light  from  within  came  streaming  through  the 
cracks. 

"  Was  it  the  lef  side  Mary  said  ?"  murmured 
Reuben,  hesitating  on  the  road.  "  Yes,  'twas 
the  lef." 

He  walked  softly  to  the  left  side  of  Daniel 
Whip's  house.  There,  towards  the  bottom  of 
one  of  the  windows,  a  broader  band  of  light 
burst  through  the  shutter,  from  which  a  slat 
was  missing. 

"  Lyddy  must  ha'  seen  real  well.  There  warn't 
no  reason  she  shouldn't,"  thought  Reuben,  as 
he  bent  his  head  and  looked  into  the  house. 
74 


THE   PRICE  OF   PEACE 

The  one  lamp,  which  was  in  the  centre  of  the 
supper-table,  lighted  the  small  room  brilliant 
ly.  The  china  on  the  shelves,  Daniel  Whip's 
half-finished  wheels  in  the  corner,  his  tools  near 
by — everything,  in  fact,  except  Whip  himself — 
Reuben  could  see  plainly.  Directly  opposite 
the  window,  at  the  head  of  the  supper-table, 
sat  Sarah. 

"  White  and  scared  as  a  rabbit,"  sighed  Reu 
ben  to  himself.  He  looked  at  the  supper,  and 
thought  that  the  poor  soul  must  have  made 
an  effort  to  have  it  especially  good.  A  high- 
backed  arm-chair  was  placed  opposite  Sarah, 
with  its  back  to  the  window  where  Reuben 
stood.  There,  he  judged,  the  master  of  the 
house  must  be  ;  for  dish  after  dish  was  depre- 
catingly  pushed  by  Sarah  towards  this  chair, 
and  they  seemed  to  disappear  in  its  recesses. 
Sarah's  own  plate  lay  face  down  before  her; 
she  had  not  so  much  as  turned  it  over. 

No  word  was  being  spoken.  To  the  genial 
soul  at  the  window  this  was  the  darkest  feat 
ure.  Finally,  the  dishes  which  had  been  disap 
pearing  full  into  the  chair  began  to  come  back 
empty,  and  Sarah  rose  to  clear  the  table.  She 
went  to  her  work  slowly,  with  faltering  foot 
steps.  When  all  the  dishes  had  been  taken 
away,  she  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  stood  with 
the  centre  crease  of  the  cloth  held  in  her  fin 
gers  for  a  full  minute  before  she  jerked  it  off, 

There  was  still  no  sign  of  life  from  Daniel 
75 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

that  Reuben  could  see.  Close  by  the  window 
stood  the  dresser.  As  Sarah  approached  it  to 
open  the  drawer  and  lay  the  cloth  away,  Reu 
ben  was  looking  through  the  broken  slat  full 
into  her  despairing  face.  She  was  standing 
quite  still,  listening,  and  he  held  his  breath  lest 
she  should  hear  him.  At  that  moment  came  a 
sound  that  blanched  the  woman's  cheeks  and 
made  the  watcher's  back  crawl.  It  was  Dan 
iel  Whip  scrambling  up  on  the  table.  Reuben 
could  not  see  him,  for  Sarah  blocked  his  view  ; 
but  he  could  imagine  him  standing  there,  with 
his  "  watermelon  head,"  his  "  squeeched  -  up 
eyes,"  his  "  humped-together  body,"  the  cruel 
strap  ready  in  his  hand.  He  knew  Sarah  was 
mentally  seeing  the  same  sight ;  for  her  figure 
was  bent  despairingly,  and  it  seemed  to  Reu 
ben  that  she  was  looking  out  through  the  bro 
ken  shutter  straight  into  his  eyes,  while  her 
eyes  were  growing  fixed  and  strange.  Her  lips 
were  moving. 

•  'Lord  help  her!"  thought  Reuben;  "she's 
prayin' !" 

Suddenly  Sarah's  eyes  lighted  up ;  a  dash  of 
bright  red  came  over  her  cheek  -  bones.  She 
wheeled  so  abruptly  that  Reuben  Grey  started 
back.  He  heard  a  scuffle,  one  rabbit-like  cry, 
and  when  he  regained  his  post  of  observation 
Daniel  Whip  was  not  on  the  table. 

Sarah  was  standing  by  the  arm-chair,  look 
ing  down  into  its  recesses.  She  held  a  heavy 
76 


THE   PRICE  OF  PEACE 

leather  strap  in  her  hand,  and  spoke  in  a  high, 
excited  voice,  mechanically  as  a  parrot. 

"  Well,  Dan'l  Whip,  you  do  look  !"  She  went 
on  rapidly,  yet  as  one  feeling  for  words.  The 
thong  was  raised  waveringly. 

"  You  see  this,  Dan'l  ?  What  I'm  standin' 
here  considerin'  is  ef  I  ain't  called  on  right 
now  to  haul  yer  outer  there  an'  give  yer  the 
worst  lickin'  yer  've  had  sence — sence — I  mean 
a  worse  lickin'  than  you  ever  give  me  with  this 
strop.  'Tain't  as  ef  I  was  hankerin'  to  do  it ; 
it's  kinder  hot  to  be  whippin'  ter-day;  but  I 
don't  seem  able  to  decide  ef  I  ain't  neglectin' 
my  dooty  in  parsin'  it  by.  Min',  I  don'  say  I 
ain't  goin'  to  lick  yer  anyhow  ;  but  there's  jes 
one  thing  you  kin  be  shore  of :  ef  I  ketch  yer 
again  on  this  table,  hot  nor  nothin'  else  won't 
help  yer.  It'll  be  right  then  and  there,  an' 
with  this  very  thong  yer  '11  get  yer  lickin'." 

She  made  the  strap  whistle  through  the  air 
as  she  spoke,  and  jumped  herself  at  the  sound, 
but  went  on  doggedly  : 

"  I'm  goin'  to  have  peace,  an'  nothin'  else,  on 
this  here  farm — house,  I  mean." 

The  thong  whistled  again  in  her  hand  ;  but 
this  time  Sarah  seemed  to  find  a  certain  pleas 
ure  in  the  sound,  for  she  repeated  it,  looking 
from  the  stinging  lash  to  the  chair. 

"  Dan'l  Whip,"  she  cried,  suddenly,  "  don't 
you  dare  to  speak  or  move  !  Yes,  yer  may 
squeeze  back  in  your  chair,  and  stare  yer  eyes 
77 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

outer  your  head.  This  thong's  better  to  hear 
than  to  feel,  as  I  can  tell  yer.  I  said  I  warn't 
hankerin'  to  use  it  on  yer,  but  'deed  I  don't 
know.  Now  I'm  at  the  right  end  o'  it  fer  once, 
I  do  seem  to  feel  as  ef  five  or  six  good  licks — 
now  'tain't  no  use  your  sayin'  a  word,  Dan'l 
Whip  ;  sure  's  yer  do,  I'll  light  right  in,  an'  ef 
I  get  started,  I  ain't  sayin'  I  could  stop." 

Reuben  Grey,  at  the  window,  was  clinging 
to  the  sill  in  dismay.  Sarah  had  been  like 
some  dumb  brute  unconscious  of  its  strength. 
Now  that  she  had  learned  her  power,  it  was 
sweet.  The  weight  of  an  awful  responsibility 
settled  on  Reuben's  shoulders.  Sarah  was  slap 
ping  the  strap  across  her  palm  thoughtfully. 

"When  I  grabbed  you  off  the  table  jes  now, 
and  chucked  you  back  in  that  chair,  an'  yanked 
this  thong  outer  yer  han',  Dan'l  Whip,  what  I 
meant  to  say  by  it  was  this  :  I  ain't  never  goin' 
to  walk  roun'  that  table  to  be  licked  no  more, 
not  one  time ;  but  I  can't  be  shore  'bout  lickin' 
you  now  with  this  thong — I'm  kinder  'fraid 
of  breakin*  yer.  You  ain't  big,  like  I  am.  I'm 
just  wonderin*  how  yer  ma  ever  done  it  'thout 
killin'  yer." 

A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  Sarah. 
Her  face  cleared ;  she  turned  away,  and  laid 
the  strap  on  the  high  mantel-shelf.  "  Dan'l," 
she  said,  returning  to  stand  and  look  down 
from  her  height  into  the  chair,  "  I've  made 
up  my  min'  clean.  I  ain't  ever  goin'  ter  lick 
78 


THE   PRICE   OF   PEACE 

yer  with  that  thong.  It's  too  crool,  an'  you 
so  little."  Her  tone  grew  almost  affectionate. 
"  I  know  jes  how  crool  it  is.  Ef  leather  didn't 
smell  so  etarnal  bad  burnin',  I'd  th'o'  the  thing 
in  the  fire  once  fer  all.  What  I'm  studyin"  over 
now  is,  ef  I  oughtn't  to  do  yer  jes  as  your  ma 
mus'  ha'  done  yer  many  a  time  when  you  got 
yer  ugly  tempers  on — jes  like  I'd  do  my  own 
chile  ef  I  had  one.  I'm  considerin'  turning  you 
right  over  my  knee  an'  spankin'  yer  good ;  that 
couldn't  do  yer  no  harm,  and  it  might — ach  ! 
Don't  you  speak  a  word,  Dan'l  Whip  !" 

Reuben  Grey  withdrew  from  the  window 
as  softly  as  he  had  come.  He  stepped  from  the 
house  to  the  road,  and  with  the  same  unneces 
sarily  cautious  step  he  crossed  the  town,  seek 
ing  his  mare  and  buggy  at  the  horse  -  rack. 
Then  he  carefully  counted  over  the  packages 
of  groceries,  to  find  the  number  correct.  As 
he  drove  down  the  road  from  Riverton,  Reu 
ben  Grey  was  whistling  softly  and  happily  to 
himself. 

Whether  Sarah  decided  to  spank  or  to  spare 
Daniel  Whip,  he  had  no  curiosity  to  learn. 
"Anyhow,"  he  ruminated,  "he  knows  now  she 
kin  and  may,  an'  that's  the  whole  p'int." 


AN    ECHO 

"WHY  doubt  my  soul,  why  doubt  Je-hovah's  a-aid?" 

trolled  out  a  rich  voice. 

"  That's  not  a  drinking  song,  Ewey,"  said  the 
young  foreman. 

The  mocking  notes  rolled  out  again  : 

"  Thy  God,  the  God  of  bat-ties,  still  sha-all  prove  /" 

The  foreman  struck  his  hand  on  the  man's 
shoulder. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Ewey  !  Aren't  those 
negroes  enough  ?  Hear  them  howl.  Powers  ! 
what  a  night !" 

"  I  was  preaching  to  them,  sir,"  answered 
Ewey. 

"  It  sounded  more  like  blasphemy.  Nothing 
will  quiet  them  until  this  storm  passes  over. 
Hello,  that  was  a  close  call !  There  go  the  elec 
tric  lights.  The  current's  cut  off." 

A  piercing  flash  of  white  light  had  split  the 

heavens,  followed  by  a  crash,  beneath  which 

the  earth  seemed  to  crouch.     The  furnace  and 

furnace-shed,  brilliantly  lit  by  artificial  light 

80 


AN  ECHO 

a  moment  before,  were  left  in  total  darkness, 
from  the  depths  of  which  came  the  trampling 
of  hurried  feet,  howls  of  mingled  fear  and  ex 
citement  from  negro  throats,  answered  by 
shouts  of  derision  from  the  white  laborers. 

"  We  shall  have  a  stampede  here  if  this  keeps 
up,"  said  the  foreman. 

The  rain,  driven  by  the  wind,  slapped  as  a 
flat  hand  on  the  roof  and  the  sides  of  the  shed. 
The  lightning  and  thunder  seemed  to  know  no 
before  or  after.  Within  the  shed,  torches  car 
ried  on  high  by  their  bearers  wandered  aim 
lessly  about  here  and  there,  dropping  a  trail  of 
sputtering  fire  behind  them.  Each  vivid  elec 
tric  flash  was  greeted  by  another  howl  from 
the  negroes,  drowned  the  next  moment  by  the 
thundering  cloud-bursts.  In  the  intermittent 
light  the  young  foreman  could  see  the  dim 
outline  of  the  huddled  figures  in  the  shed,  the 
movements  of  those  who  held  torches,  and, 
above  him,  looming  up  in  the  gloom  like  a 
mountain-side,  the  huge  bulk  of  the  furnace. 

"This  might  be  the  scene  of  the  Crucifix 
ion,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "  '  There  was  a  dark 
ness  over  all  the  earth  —  and  the  earth  did 
quake,  and  the  rocks  rent.'  " 

Ewey  glanced  about  him.  With  a  coarse 
oath  he  assented  easily.  The  foreman  turned 
and  looked  at  him. 

"Are  you  all  ready  for  the  midnight  cast?" 
he  said,  shortly. 

F  81 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"All  up,  sir." 

"Then  find  a  torch  and  light  it.  We  may 
as  well  sit  here  in  this  corner  until  the  storm 
passes." 

The  oil -torch  which  Ewey  found  and  pos 
sessed  himself  of  by  right  of  might  was  already 
lit  and  in  the  hand  of  a  passing  workman.  He 
stuck  the  flambeau  in  a  crevice  of  the  wall, 
where  it  guttered  and  gasped  in  the  wind, 
smelling  horribly.  The  storm  was  a  trifle  far 
ther  off.  The  electric  lights  were  reviving, 
but  the  corner  where  the  two  men  settled 
down  was  remote  and  lighted  only  by  the 
torch. 

The  foreman  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  wheelbar 
row,  his  knees  crossed  and  nursed  in  his  hands. 
As  Ewey  flung  himself  on  the  ground  at  his 
feet  he  looked  down  at  him  carelessly,  observ 
ing  the  brawny  figure,  the  knotted  hands  and 
over-developed  shoulders  of  the  day-laborer. 

"  Here  comes  Zanny  as  if  fire  were  after 
her,"  said  Ewey. 

A  large  white  and  yellow  cat  came  bounding 
out  of  the  darkness  into  the  circle  of  torch 
light.  She  sprang  to  the  knee  of  the  young 
foreman,  nestling  close  against  him  and  pur 
ring  loudly. 

"Poor  Zanthippe  is  as  scared  as  the  negroes," 
he  said,  stroking  her.  "  Did  the  last  litter  of 
kittens  go  the  way  of  the  others,  Ewey  ?" 

"  Bones  and  all,  sir.   The  rats  eat  the  kittens, 
82 


AN  ECHO 

and  she  eats  the  rats.  She's  a  cannibal,  is 
Zanny." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  coaxingly  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  furnace  cat  descending,  curled 
into  his  arms,  rubbing  her  head  against  him. 
The  young  foreman,  forgetting  both  man  and 
beast,  was  looking  out  at  the  storm  through  an 
open  panel  in  the  opposite  wall  of  the  shed. 

"  When  I  was  a  child,"  he  said,  simply,  "  I 
used  to  think  that  God  had  a  gold  carpet  on 
His  floor,  and  when  the  heavens  cracked  open, 
as  now,  the  gold  showed  through." 

Ewey,  resting  his  head  against  a  block  of 
wood,  softening  his  pillow  with  his  interlocked 
ringers  and  the  palms  of  his  hands,  was  looking 
out  at  the  storm  also. 

"  Why  doubt,  my  soul,  why  doubt  Jehovah's  a-aid  ?" 

he  hummed  softly. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  that  ?"  said  the  fore 
man. 

"At  home,"  answered  the  workman,  still 
gazing  out  into  the  storm  abstractedly,  and 
lifting  one  hand  to  stroke  the  cat's  long  back. 
"At  home.  My  father  made  his  choir  sing  that 
every  Sunday  until  his  congregation  kicked." 

The  foreman  started.  "  His  choir — his  con 
gregation  ?" 

Ewey  looked  up  quickly  from  under  his  con 
tracted  brows. 

"  Humph  !"  he  said,  half  -  humorously.  "  I 
83 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

thought  I  had  gone  beyond  a  storm's  loosing 
my  tongue,  but  it  seems  not.  That's  all  true 
enough,  as  it's  said ;  but  my  father  and  his  choir 
and  his  congregation  are  facts  that  don't  seem 
to  dovetail  exactly  with  his  son,  do  they  ?" 

"  Your  father  was  a  clergyman  ?" 

"Yes." 

They  were  both  silent.  For  the  first  time 
the  foreman  noted  his  workman's  clean,  close 
ly  cut  hair,  his  crisply  curling  beard  and  mus 
tache,  the  whiteness  of  the  muscular  chest  ex 
posed  by  the  carelessly  loosened  red  shirt,  the 
rough  beauty  of  his  features,  and  wondered 
why  all  this  had  never  struck  him  before. 

"  You  are  an  Englishman,  are  you  not  ?"  said 
the  foreman. 

"  Yes,  I  am  English." 

"Was  your  father  a  Dissenter,  or  of  the 
Established  Church  ?" 

Ten  minutes  before,  he  would  not  have 
believed  Ewey  could  have  understood  the 
wording  of  this  sentence. 

"The  Established  Church?  Oh  yes.  Dis 
senters  are  rarely  men  of  position  in  Eng 
land." 

"  Then  your  father — "  began  the  foreman. 
He  checked  himself. 

Ewey  rolled  over  on  his  side  and  looked  up 
at  his  superior. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  He  held  up 
three  fingers  as  he  spoke.  "  There  is  my  story 


AN  ECHO 

— a  rule-of-three.  Given,  a  younger  son  of  a 
younger  son  of  an  impoverished  younger  son. 
Result — a  poor  devil  worth  thirteen  and  a  half 
cents  an  hour,  working  eleven  hours  a  day  one 
week  and  thirteen  hours  by  night  the  next,  and 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch  in  the  long  turn 
every  other  week.  This  on  three  meals  a  day, 
composed  of  tin -pail  for  breakfast,  ditto  for 
dinner,  ditto  for  supper.  If  you  want  to  make 
money  invent  a  cheap  metal  that  doesn't  taint 
the  honest  laborer's  food." 

The  grossness  of  speech  and  accent  usual  to 
him  had  partially  fallen  off.  He  spoke  with 
those  careful  inflections  and  the  trained  voice 
that  belong  to  an  Englishman  of  refinement. 
His  companion,  looking  with  the  eyes  of  an 
imaginative  man  into  the  mocking  face  before 
him,  saw  it  as  the  blurred  photograph  of  a 
finely  cut  original.  He  recognized  that  the 
defiant  blue  eyes  might  once  have  been  only 
dare-devil  and  merry,  the  figure,  now  over-de 
veloped  by  toil,  once  that  of  the  trained  athlete, 
the  too  serpentine  poise  of  the  head,  spirited 
and  aristocratic. 

"  Having  known  a  life  utterly  different,"  said 
the  foreman,  "  how  do  you  stand  the  laborer's 
world  ?  I  won  my  present  position  by  a  six- 
months'  novitiate  as  a  workman  ;  but  if  I  had 
not  known  that  the  theoretical  knowledge  in 
my  head  was  there  as  a  ladder  by  which  to 
climb  out,  I  could  never  have  stood  it.  You 
85 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

have  no  such  hope  ahead.  How  can  you  stand 
it?" 

The  workman  stretched  himself  out  on  his 
back  again  and  laughed. 

"  Why  not  ?  It's  exciting  work.  Battle,  mur 
der,  and  sudden  death  are  all  here.  Besides, 
at  a  moment  I  can  quit  and  go  away  from  this 
as  I  came  ;  or  at  any  time  I  can  crook  my  el 
bow  with  the  boys  and  forget  it  all." 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and  flung 
his  head  back  suggestively. 

"  I  suspended  you  for  that  last  month,"  said 
the  foreman.  "  If  I  had  known  all  this  I  should 
perhaps  have  been  more  lenient." 

Ewey  raised  his  hand  quickly. 

"  I  want  no  favor.  You  think  me  unhappy, 
don't  you  ?  I  am  not.  I  was  never  unhappy 
but  once  in  my  life.  Then  every  night  for 
three  weeks  I  decided  to  cut  my  throat,  and 
every  morning  I  woke  up  laughing." 

He  stopped  and  laughed  again,  winking  his 
face  as  in  keen  enjoyment  of  some  memory. 

"  I  was  held  for  twenty-one  days,"  he  said. 

"  In  prison  ?" 

"  No — in  the  '  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair.'  Do 
you  happen  to  know  '  Lycidas '  ?" 

"  I  know  that  it  is  by  Milton,"  said  the  fore 
man,  wondering. 

"  I  have  the  advantage  of  you.  I  know  '  Ly 
cidas'  by  heart.  It  was  my  father's  favorite 
poem,  and  he  made  me  learn  it  as  a  punish- 
86 


AN  ECHO 

ment  for  pinning  a  towel  to  his  surplice  at  the 
back.  I  have  enjoyed  many  advantages.  I 
suppose  you  never  had  the  advantage  of  find 
ing  yourself  in  the  streets  of  London — without 
a  penny  in  your  pocket  either?" 

"  No,"  said  the  young  foreman,  gently.  "  I 
have  never  been  abroad." 

He  was  choosing  his  words  carefully  lest  he 
should  jar  an  atmosphere  in  which  the  man 
before  him  had  for  a  time  returned  to  first 
conditions,  and  flowed  into  his  proper  level  as 
naturally  as  water  obeying  its  law. 

This  foreman  had  only  known  Ewey  previ 
ously  as  a  workman  who  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye,  on  whom  he  could  ever  depend  in 
a  crisis,  and  to  whom  he  spoke  rarely,  save  to 
issue  an  order,  then  with  shortness  and  deci 
sion.  He  knew  now  that  this  last  had  been  an 
unconscious  recognition  of  inability  to  obtain 
obedience,  except  of  Ewey's  choice. 

"  London  is  not  a  nice  place  to  find  yourself 
in  at  night  when  you  haven't  a  penny,"  said 
Ewey.  "  I  suppose  I  lost  my  head  a  little  or 
Neaera  wouldn't  have  caught  me  ;  still,  I  was 
pretty  green.  I  think  I  was  the  oldest  and  the 
youngest  and  the  greenest  and  the  wickedest 
of  the  honored  sons  of  my  college  when  I  ran 
away  from  Alma  Mater." 

"  You  are  a  college  graduate  ?" 

"  Not  much  !  I  ran  away,  anticipating  a  less 
voluntary  exit.  But  I  took  my  humble  degree 
87 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

in  college  opinion  as  a  tumbler.  I  was  the  best 
there.  A  travelling  circus  accepted  me  greed 
ily  as  such.  This  thunder  to-night  is  a  mur 
mur  to  the  applause  I  caught  at  the  perform 
ances.  The  manager  doubled  my  salary  in  the 
first  month." 

"And  did  no  one  recognize  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  besides,  I  got  tired  of  the  life  as  I 
shall  of  this,  and  ran  away  again  before  long." 

"  To  what  ?" 

"  Everything.  A  tumbler  knows  how  to  fall 
on  his  feet.  I  had  no  particular  trouble — until 
I  met  Nea^ra." 

He  laughed  again,  burying  his  hand  in  the 
cat's  soft  fur,  drawing  it  between  his  fingers 
as  he  rambled  on  easily  through  his  story. 

"  I  met  Neaera  in  London.  I  had  about  come 
to  the  end  of  things  then.  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  go  home  for  a  time  and  take  breath. 
But  I  came  in  on  one  side  of  London  at  ten 
o'clock  at  night ;  home  lay  miles  out  on  the 
other  side.  My  money  gave  out  with  my  sup 
per.  I  suppose  you  have  camped  out  under 
hedges  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  young  foreman  ;  "  many 
times  when  a  boy." 

"  I  had  been  on  the  tramp  for  days,  but  if 
I  didn't  long  for  a  hedge  to  roll  under  that 
night !  I  thought  the  population  of  London 
must  be  policemen.  I  never  sat  down  but  one 
came  along.  My  feet  were  so  sore  I  could 


AN   ECHO 

hardly  move.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  scrubbed 
them  off  tramping  and  was  walking  on  the  raw 
stumps.  I  have  thought  I  was  tired  here  on 
the  twenty  -  four  hour  turn  sometimes,  but 
when  I  remember  that  night  I  feel  as  fresh  as 
paint." 

The  young  foreman's  mind  went  harking 
back  to  some  "  long  turns "  he  had  himself 
known.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  never  known  greater  weariness  than 
the  long  turn  myself,"  he  said.  "  In  the  last 
six  hours  of  one  I  have  sometimes  ceased  to 
care  if  I  lived  or  died.  Where  did  you  go 
finally?" 

"  Straight  to  Neaera's  tangles.  I  was  crawl 
ing  along  at  a  limp  when  I  saw  an  old  church 
near  me  with  stone  buttresses.  I  decided  that 
it  might  do  to  creep  behind  one  of  them,  where 
I  could  sit  with  my  head  on  my  knees,  and 
sleep.  I  squeezed  in  behind  the  stones,  and 
was  just  about  to  crouch  down  in  the  corner, 
when  I  struck  against  something  soft  that  said, 
'O — ouch!'  It  was  Neasra." 

"A  woman?" 

"  A  woman,  and  a  clever  one,  I  tell  you.  Just 
as  she  screeched  I  heard  the  patrolman's  steps 
outside,  so  I  clapped  my  hand  over  her  mouth 
and  held  her.  When  he  had  gone  I  said,  '  My 
dear,  I  am  very  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  you 
will  have  to  share  your  quarters,  such  as  they 
are,  and  I  hope  I  haven't  hurt  you — I  didn't 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

mean  to  ;  I  only  wanted  the  officer  to  get  by.' 
Then  I  took  my  hand  from  her  mouth  and  let 
her  go.  I  thought  she  would  yell  again,  but 
she  didn't.  She  only  said,  quite  coolly,  that  I 
was  welcome  and  no  offence  taken.  I  thought 
she  seemed  like  a  good-natured,  sensible  girl, 
so  I  told  her  as  we  were  both  in  the  same  hole, 
and  that  not  a  very  big  one,  two  heads  being 
better  than  one,  perhaps  we  might  find  a  way 
out  of  it.  '  I'm  not  a  London  man,'  I  said, 
'  so  I  know  none  of  the  tricks  of  the  trade.  Is 
there  any  place  here  where  people  can  sleep 
for  nothing  ?'  I  knew  one  trick  by  heart  before 
she  got  through  with  me  ! 

"  '  Yes,'  she  said,  after  a  minute,  '  there  is  a 
place,  but  they  wouldn't  let  you  or  me  in.' 

"  '  Why  not  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Well,  it's  only  for  married  people.' 

" '  Come  right  along,'  I  said  ;  '  who'll  know 
whether  we  are  married  or  not  ?' 

" '  Oh  yes,  they  will  know,  too,'  said  she. 
'  They  always  ask,  and  you  wouldn't  lie  about 
it,  would  you  ?' 

" '  I'd  do  more  than  that  for  a  spot  to  lie  down 
on,'  I  said.  '  Where  is  the  place  ?' 

" '  Round  the  corner  from  here ;  but  you'd 
have  to  do  more  than  lie  and  more  than  I'll 
do.  They'd  make  us  both  swear  to  it  before 
they'd  let  us  in.' 

"  I  was  so  worn  out,  my  knees  were  like  water 
and  my  head  swam.  '  Come  on,'  I  said,  '  I'm 
90 


AN  ECHO 

game  for  that,  too.  Come  on,  like  a  good  girl 
now.'  And,  if  you  believe  me,  I  thought  I  had 
a  hard  time  persuading  her  to  it. 

"  When  we  got  to  the  house,  she  leading  the 
way,  we  were  taken  to  a  kind  of  office,  and 
there  I  swore,  by  all  I  held,  or  didn't  hold,  holy, 
that  Neaera  was  my  wife,  and  that  I,  Hugh 

,  never  mind  the  rest,  was  named  Joseph 

Daw." 

"  Then  your  Christian  name  is  Hugh  , 

not  Ewey?"  said  the  foreman. 

"  Hugh,  Hughie — 'Ugh,  Ewey.  It  depends 
entirely  on  your  station  in  life.  The  circus 
people  over  there  called  me  '  'Ughy.'  It  stuck, 
somehow,  and  crossed  the  water  with  me  in 
another  spelling. 

"Well,  to  go  on,  the  matron  of  the  place 
took  Neaera  off  with  her  down  a  long  corridor, 
and  a  janitor  carried  me  off  down  another  long 
corridor  into  a  room  full  of  beds  with  sleeping 
men  in  them.  He  pointed  out  an  empty  bed 
to  me  and  I  tumbled  in,  thinking  it  the  easiest- 
earned  bunk  I  ever  slept  in.  It  didn't  seem  to 
me  that  I  had  been  asleep  for  ten  minutes  be 
fore  somebody  shook  my  shoulder  and  woke 
me.  Then  I  saw  that  it  was  early  morning, 
and  the  men  around  me  were  dragging  them 
selves  out  of  their  beds.  A  tall  man,  with 
round  spectacles  and  a  big  nose,  had  his  hand 


on  me 

u  t 


Joseph    Daw,'    he    said  — '  Joseph    Daw. 
91 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

That's  your  name,  isn't  it  ?'  I  was  about  to 
say  it  wasn't,  when  he  added,  '  You  came  in 
last  night  late,  didn't  you  ?' 

"  Then  I  remembered,  and  thanked  the  Lord 
I  hadn't  spoken,  and  that  he  had  told  me  my 
name,  which  I  couldn't  have  told  him  then  for 
my  neck. 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  I  said. 

" '  Then  your  wife  is  doing  very  well,  and  you 
have  a  fine  boy.'  " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  foreman. 

Ewey  beat  his  hand  upon  the  ground  in  an 
ecstasy  of  enjoyment.  The  tears  started  from 
his  eyes,  which  were  screwed  up  with  laughter. 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  he  cried,  between  his 
gasps.  "And  the  doctor  ('twas  he  who  came  to 
tell  me)  laughed  in  my  face  and  went  out." 

"  Ewey,"  said  the  foreman,  "  you  don't 
mean — " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Ewey.  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  anything  as  clever  as  that  woman  ?  I 
sat  up  on  the  side  of  my  bed  and  thought  it 
was  a  nightmare.  I  suppose  I  must  have  look 
ed  queer,  for  the  man  from  the  next  bed  asked 
me  if  I  were  sick. 

" '  Yes,'  I  answered,  '  powerful  sick.  Look 
here — don't  tell  I  asked  you — but  what  sort  of 
a  place  is  this,  anyway  ?' 

" '  How  did  you  get  here  if  you  don't  know  ?' 
he  said.  '  It's  a  Maternity  Hospital.' 

" '  A  Maternity  Hospital !  Then  what  are 
92 


AN  ECHO 

you  and  I  doing  here  ?'  He  looked  at  me  with 
his  head  on  one  side. 

"  '  Say,  you  must  have  been  mighty  drunk 
when  you  came  in  last  night,'  said  he.  'We're 
here  to  work  out  the  doctor's  bill  and  the 
medicines  and  the  board  for  the  missus  and 
the  kid.'  " 

The  foreman  burst  into  irrepressible  laugh 
ter. 

"  Ewey,"  he  cried,  "  I  don't  believe  one  word 
of  it.  You  are  making  up  this  story  as  you 
tell  it." 

"  So  help  me  !  I'm  not.  That  morning  I  saw 
the  name  in  big  gold  letters  over  the  door  in 
the  sunlight,  and  I  saw  the  iron  gate  and  the 
iron  railings  around  the  grounds,  too.  I  can 
see  them  now.  There  I  was,  and  there  I  had 
to  stay,  breaking  stones  for  that  hussy  and 
her  baby's  board  for  twenty-one  days.  Afraid 
to  say  a  word,  I  was.  She  fixed  that  the  first 
thing.  They  let  me  go  in  to  see  her  '  for  just 
a  minute,'  they  said,  and  showed  me  the  baby. 
O  Lord,  it  was  awful  !  She  lay  there  watch 
ing  me  like  a  crab.  I  just  said  one  word  to 
her  through  my  teeth  when  I  bent  my  head 
down  over  her  to  fool  the  nurse.  *  You  little 
fiend  !'  said  I. 

" '  You  perjurer  !'  says  she.  '  It's  ten  years 
for  perjury,  you  know.  You  swore  you  were 
my  husband  !' 

"  I  was  scared  out  of  saying  another  word.  I 
93 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

didn't  know  what  the  law  was.  There  I  stayed, 
sir,  all  those  twenty-one  days,  mad  enough  to 
kill  her  and  myself  one  minute,  and  my  insides 
all  tickled  with  laughter  the  next.  If  it  had 
only  been  breaking  stones,  that  wouldn't  have 
been  so  bad,  but  they  let  me,  let  me,  as  a  favor, 
clean  myself  up  to  sit  by  the  bed  and  see  her 
and  the  baby  !  That  was  what  took  the  man 
out  of  me." 

"And  you  both  played  it  out  to  the  end?" 

"To  the  end,  sir." 

Ewey  had  been  gradually  dropping  back 
more  and  more  into  the  manner  and  the  ver 
nacular  of  the  workman. 

The  storm  was  now  farther  off,  the  lightning 
less  vivid,  the  thunder  more  muttering  than 
threatening.  The  cat,  stretching  her  legs  and 
arching  her  back,  disengaged  herself  from  her 
human  comrades,  walking  off  with  stiff  tail. 
The  tenseness  of  the  atmosphere  was  relaxing, 
the  vague  echo  of  a  past  which  had  waked  mo 
mentarily  in  the  workman  was  dying  also. 

"When  that  twenty-one  days  ended,"  he  said, 
"we  walked  out  of  the  door  side  by  side  as 
man  and  wife  down  the  long  plank  -  walk  to 
the  iron  gate  of  the  grounds,  she  carrying  the 
baby.  I  saw  her  watching  and  watching  me, 
and  putting  her  fingers  to  her  eyes.  When  we 
got  to  the  gate,  says  she,  'Jo,'  with  a  sniffle, 
'  hold  the  baby  a  minute.  I  want  to  get  my 
handkerchief  out  of  my  pocket.' 
94 


AN   ECHO 

"  'All  right,'  I  said,  real  sweetly.  I  was  watch 
ing  the  man  at  the  gate.  I  began  to  hold  out 
my  arms  slowly  like,  but  just  as  the  gate  open 
ed  I  made  one  dash.  I  never  stopped  running 
for  miles.  I  could  hear  her  calling  after  me. 
She  may  be  standing  there  calling  yet — " 

An  impatient  voice  from  the  other  side  of 
the  furnace  broke  in: 

"  Here  you,  Ewey,"  it  growled,  "  I  want  you 
to  quit  your  lying  round,  sharp,  and  give  a 
hand  on  this  sledge." 

It  was  the  furnace-keeper,  known  as  Rocky 
Mountain,  from  his  birthplace  and  his  nature. 
The  cinder  was  ready  to  be  tapped  from  the 
furnace.  The  other  helpers  were  at  work 
at  the  cinder  -  notch.  Ewey  moved  leisurely, 
slouching  to  his  feet  with  a  carelessness  which 
did  not  conceal  the  enormous  power  of  his 
muscular  and  nervous  force.  Rocky  Moun 
tain  was  not  apt  to  "  fool  "  with  Ewey.  Once, 
in  a  fit  of  rage,  the  latter  had  chased  the  keeper 
from  the  "pig-bed"  with  a  red-hot  crow-bar, 
and  the  circumstance  was  not  forgotten  by 
either. 

"Comin',"  answered  Ewey,  easily.  "Good 
night,  sir." 

He  stepped  to  the  other  side  of  the  furnace, 
where  a  volley  of  abuse  greeted  him,  which  he 
answered  in  kind — and  more.  The  foreman 
listened,  still  sitting  thoughtfully  in  his  corner. 
The  busy  life  of  the  furnace  was  again  resumed 
95 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

in  preparation  for  the  midnight  cast.  He  could 
hear  Rocky  Mountain  growling  and  swearing 
at  his  helpers  as  usual.  Under  his  directions 
the  drill,  which  was  to  pick  open  the  tapping- 
hole  and  let  loose  the  molten  iron,  now  ready 
and  white-hot  inside  the  great  crater,  was  be 
ing  rammed  backward  and  forward  in  regular 
strokes  by  a  number  of  men. 

They  began  to  sing  in  a  rude  melody,  keep 
ing  time.  Most  of  the  singers  were  negroes, 
but  a  white  man's  mocking  voice,  which  the 
foreman  recognized,  was  leading  them.  He 
improvised,  singing  a  line  alone,  which  the  rest 
caught  up  in  chorus  : 

' '  Rocky  Mountain  grumbling  /" 

sang  Ewey,  clearly  ;  and  the  negroes  followed, 
gutturally : 

"  Rocky  Mountain  grum-mer-lin  ! 

Yes,  Lord! 

Rocky  Mountain  grum-mer-lin ! 
Yes,  Lord  !     Drive  her  in  !" 

Again  the  solo : 

"  Better  quit  your  grumbling !" 
Chorus : 

' '  Yes,  Lord  !    Better  quit  your  grum-mer-lin  \ 
Drive  her  in  !" 

Solo  (high  and  derisive)  : 

"Ewey,  he's  a-coming  !" 
96 


AN  ECHO 
Chorus  again : 

"  Yes,  Lord  !" 
Solo: 

"His  crow-bar  in  his  hand!" 

This  sally  died  away  amid  roars  of  laughter. 
The  foreman  rose  and  walked  to  the  tapping- 
hole. 

Ewey,  his  arms  and  chest  bared,  was  work 
ing  at  the  drill,  his  great  muscles  moving  with 
power  and  regularity. 

"  One  muck  of  a  hole,  boss.  She's  clean 
through  to  the  other  side,"  he  said,  coarsely, 
and  with  an  oath  added. 

He  was  the  workman  only.  His  fellows 
laughed  again.  The  young  foreman  looked 
long  at  him,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  God  only  knows  whether  Hugh  or  Ewey  is 
the  real  man,"  he  thought,  as  he  turned  away  ; 
but  in  his  heart  he  believed  that  it  was  and  had 
ever  been  Ewey. 


"  THROW  up  the  left — jump  with  the  right. 
Throw  up  the  right  —  jump  with  the  left," 
chanted  Madame  Jeanne  in  time  with  the 
music ;  and  herself  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  she  sprang  high  and  twirled  low  be 
fore  her  pupils  with  the  most  surprising 
agility ;  for  Madame  Jeanne  was  no  longer 
young. 

"  Oh  no,  no  !"  cried  she,  still  with  the  music 
and  looking  back  over  her  shoulder  at  her  im 
itators,  who  paused  in  confusion.  "  It  is  Mrs. 
Schuyler  who  is  all  wrong  again." 

The  music  stopped  as  madame  hurried  to 
seize  one  of  the  breathless  dancers  by  the 
waist,  drawing  her  into  proper  position. 

"  Here  is  the  trouble,"  said  Madame  Jeanne, 
reproachfully.  "You  have  left  your  corsets 
on  again." 

Mrs.  Schuyler  reddened  and  released  herself 
with  a  petulant  little  wriggle  of  vexation. 

"I  can't  help  it,  madame.  I  can't,  indeed. 
I  feel  too  disconnected  without  them." 

"As  you  will,"  said  madame,  with  a  shrug. 
98 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

"Come  on,  ladies  —  music  again.  Throw  up 
the  left — jump  with  the  right." 

After  all,  it  mattered  very  little  if  that  class 
never  learned  its  skirt-dance.  It  was  to  them 
but  a  new  amusement,  a  freak,  an  excuse  to 
buy  a  gaudy  costume  with  queer,  blunt-toed 
slippers  and  round,  fluttering  skirts.  The  only 
good  that  could  ever  come  of  these  lessons 
might  be  a  little  added  grace  and  a  little 
healthy  exercise. 

"  The  rich  have  queer  fancies,"  thought  ma- 
dame,  as  she  wove  out  the  figures  before  her 
class ;  but  then,  their  money  was  as  good  as 
that  of  the  professional  dancers  she  taught, 
and  if  they  liked  spending  it  so,  why,  throw  up 
the  left — jump  with  the  right.  It  was  all  one 
to  madame. 

So  madame  thought,  and  Mrs.  Schuyler  was 
perhaps  the  only  one  of  the  class  who  under 
stood  and  half  resented  the  retired  artiste's 
unconscious  contempt  of  these  amateurs.  In 
her  day  Madame  Jeanne  had  been  a  celeb 
rity  ;  but  now,  with  her  own  gray  hair  un 
covered  and  her  once  beaux  yeux  hid  behind 
round  spectacles,  she  leaped  and  bounded  in 
her  incongruous  gauze  and  spangles  before 
large  classes  of  both  professionals  and  am 
ateurs. 

"The  old  thing  actually  dignifies  her  pro 
fession,"  thought  Mrs.  Schuyler,  with  a  smile. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  a  good  thing.  I  almost 
99 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

wish  I  had  a  profession.  How  glad  she  is  to 
be  rid  of  us." 

The  clock  had  struck,  and  madame  moved 
with  waving  arms  and  tripping  feet  to  the  head 
of  the  room,  where  she  stood  kissing  her  hand 
and  courtesying  low  to  each  pupil  as  she  filed 
out. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  little  Fairy !"  cried  madame, 
in  a  new  voice,  springing  forward.  "Come, 
come  ;  I  am  ready  for  you." 

Mrs.  Schuyler,  who  had  been  the  last  to 
move,  looked  back  to  see  a  little  girl  enter  the 
room  and  run  to  madame,  flinging  her  arms 
about  the  old  dancer's  neck.  Madame  Jeanne 
embraced  her  pupil  with  equal  effusion.  She 
was  a  pretty  little  thing  about  seven  years  old, 
with  a  vain,  foolish  little  face,  as  much  in  keep 
ing  with  her  spangles  and  tulle  as  madame's 
appearance  was  out  of  harmony  with  hers. 
Mrs.  Schuyler  was  moved  to  look,  in  the  dress 
ing-room  glass,  at  her  own  black  and  pink 
voluminous  gauzes,  comparing  them  with  her 
face. 

"  It  suits,  and  it  does  not,"  she  decided.  "  I 
am  not  so  frivolous  as  I  look." 

In  her  heart  there  was  anything  but  frivol 
ity.  She  was,  in  fact,  waiting  for  the  pain 
which  clutched  her  weak  back  to  subside  be 
fore  she  began  to  dress  for  the  street.  Not 
for  worlds  would  she  have  confessed  that  the 
strong  corset  she  obstinately  wore  was  clung 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

to  as  a  support.  The  relief  its  clasp  gave  her 
might  be  temporary,  injurious  in  the  end,  but 
the  pain  without  that  artificial  strength  was 
more  than  she  could  bring  herself  to  endure. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  this  exercise  was  bad  for 
her ;  still  she  would  try  it  a  little  longer,  as 
she  had  tried  everything  else. 

She  was  in  no  hurry.  The  rest  of  the  class, 
laughing  and  chatting,  were  in  process  of 
change  from  butterfly  raiment  to  more  or  less 
severe  street  costumes.  Some  had  already 
gone,  but  Mrs.  Schuyler  was  still  idling. 

"  Over  again — over  again — over  ;  fine,  fine, 
my  Fairy  !"  came  from  behind  the  curtained 
door  which  led  to  the  dancing-hall,  and  Mrs. 
Schuyler  peeped  in  through  the  folds. 

The  little  pupil  was  turning  like  a  wheel 
about  the  room  on  hands  and  feet.  Madame's 
eyes  gleamed  behind  her  glasses  ;  she  was  clap 
ping  her  hands. 

"  Poor  little  dot !"  murmured  Mrs.  Schuyler. 

"  I'm  tired,"  said  the  child,  bounding  to  her 
feet  at  last.  She  walked  to  the  side  of  the 
room  and  there  leaned  into  the  arms  of  an 
other  child  who  had  sat  watching  her — a  small 
boy  not  very  much  older  than  herself,  but  with 
an  elderly  little  face.  The  protecting  air  with 
which  he  received  the  younger  child  was  posi 
tively  maternal. 

"  They  should  both  be  in  their  beds  by  now," 
thought  Mrs.  Schuyler. 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

The  boy's  face  troubled  her  somehow.  It 
was  as  a  familiar  sight  to  her,  or  reminded  her 
of  well  -  known  features.  Yet  she  could  not 
place  him.  He. was  oddly  dressed  in  a  fantas 
tic  plaid  suit,  ill -made  and  ill-fitting,  which 
added  to  the  uneasiness  of  his  unchildlike 
look.  The  private  class,  passing  out  in  groups, 
paused  at  the  hall  door  outside  to  watch  the 
little  professional.  Madame  was  proud  to  show 
off  her  pupil. 

"  You  will  hear  from  Fairy,"  she  said,  com 
placently.  "  She  has  great  talent — jump  high 
er,  little  one — higher.  An  audience  helps  her, 
you  see — higher."  Mrs.  Schuyler  could  hear 
the  applause  and  the  thoughtlessly  open  flat 
tery  of  the  child. 

"  Poor  little  dot !"  she  thought  again.  "  I 
wonder  if  she  has  a  mother." 

She  glanced  into  the  room  once  more  and 
then  turned  resolutely  away.  She  had  never 
liked  to  watch  children  since  the  hour  she 
learned  that  the  delicate  little  blossom  she 
had  held  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm  for  one  short 
day  was  the  only  bloom  she  might  ever  expect. 
She  was  herself  too  delicate  a  plant  to  flower 
and  live.  Whenever  she  was  reminded  of  that 
one  brief  day  the  pain  at  her  heart  was  so 
great  as  to  make  her  vow  forgetfulness,  and 
so,  as  she  had  taught  herself  to  do,  she  turned 
from  the  sight  of  the  children  in  the  dancing- 
hall  and  went  back  to  her  toilet.  She  was  alone 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

in  the  dressing-room  when  she  was  finally  ready 
to  leave,  and  as  she  passed  out  she  paused  in 
voluntarily  to  watch  the  lesson,  which  was  still 
in  progress. 

"  You  are  careless,"  madame  was  saying, 
severely.  "  Now  do  all  that  over  again." 

"  The  music's  wrong,"  fretted  the  child. 

"  The  music  is  right.  Drop  that  handker 
chief  behind  you  and  pick  it  up  again." 

Madame  stamped  her  foot  and  the  child 
whimpered,  but,  as  she  was  bidden,  dropped 
the  handkerchief  behind  her  close  to  her  heels, 
and  bent  backward  to  reach  it  with  her  hand 
thrust  over  her  head  until  it  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Schuyler  the  little  spine  must  break. 

"  Oh,  but  that  must  hurt  her,"  she  cried,  ad 
vancing  ;  "  and  she's  such  a  baby." 

Madame  laughed. 

"  That — that's  nothing.  I  could  pick  up  the 
handkerchief  in  a  flash  before  I  grew  old.  You 
like  it,  don't  you,  my  pet  ?  and  you  did  it  beau 
tifully  this  time." 

The  child  sprang  into  madame's  arms  and 
was  caressed. 

"  Where  is  the  boy  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Schuyler. 

"  There,"  said  madame,  pointing  to  the  win 
dow. 

A  boy  of  the   same   size   as   the  one   Mrs. 
Schuyler  had  seen  was  standing  at  the  win 
dow,  peering  with  childish   interest  into   the 
street  where  the  carriages  were  passing. 
103 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  That's  not  the  same  child,"  said  Mrs.  Schuy- 
ler  ;  "  he  has  on  a  tweed  suit,  and  the  little  boy 
I  saw  was  dressed  in  plaid.  Where  is  he  ?" 

"Here,"  cried  madame,  laughing,  "show  the 
lady  the  front  of  your  trousers." 

The  little  boy  obediently  came  forward  at 
her  call,  his  head  hanging,  his  face  scarlet.  Ma 
dame  laughed  loudly  with  unthinking  cruelty. 

"  His  mamma,"  she  explained,  "  is  very  poor. 
She  had  those  remnants,  each  only  enough 
for  half  a  suit,  so  she  asked  him  if  he  would 
rather  have  one  leg  of  plaid  and  one  of  tweed, 
or  have  the  back  and  the  front  of  the  trousers 
different ;  and  he  said  he'd  have  it  as  it  is,  be 
cause  then  people  might  think  he  was  two 
boys." 

Mrs.  Schuyler  could  not  help  smiling,  but  she 
looked  at  the  abashed  lashes  lying  on  the  boy's 
red  cheeks,  and  sat  down  in  a  chair,  drawing 
the  child  kindly  into  her  arm. 

"  That's  just  what  I  did  think.  I  believed 
you  were  two  boys.  You  were  a  clever  little 
fellow  to  choose  so." 

"  His  mother  made  the  suit  herself,"  said 
madame,  in  a  laughing  aside.  "  She  doesn't 
sew  well." 

"  The  little  girl  is  dressed  very  differently," 
answered  Mrs.  Schuyler,  looking  at  the  gor 
geous  spangles  and  expensive  gauze  decking 
the  small  creature. 

Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  That's 
104 


THE   CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

another  matter.  The  girl  is  a  genius.  She 
will  support  the  whole  family  in  time.  She  has 
danced  in  a  few  private  houses  and  at  a  club 
dinner  already.  Between  ourselves,  the  mother 
is  a  lazy  piece.  Any  one  may  support  her  who 
will.  She  would  never  work." 

"  I  would  have  scrubbed  before  I  dressed  the 
poor  boy  in  that  clown  costume,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Schuyler,  indignantly.  "  It's  cruelty  to 
the  child." 

"  Oh,  he,"  said  madame,  lightly  ;  "  he  is  not 
the  favorite.  When  the  little  girl  is  bad  mam 
ma  whips  him." 

The  aside  was  not  with  carefully  lowered 
voice.  Mrs.  Schuyler  saw  the  boy  dart  an 
ashamed  look  at  her,  saw  his  unchildlike  gray 
eyes  fall  and  his  mouth  twitch.  Suddenly  she 
recognized  the  likeness  which  had  before  caught 
her  attention. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  she  asked  him. 

"  George,"  answered  the  child. 

Mrs.  Schuyler  started.  She  turned  quickly 
to  the  little  girl,  who  hung  back,  but  not  with 
real  shyness  ;  that  she  had  lost,  if  she  had  ever 
possessed  it. 

"  My  name's  Fairy,"  she  volunteered. 

Mrs.  Schuyler  scanned  the  bold,  foolish  little 
face  with  keen  eyes,  and  apparently  did  not 
find  there  what  she  sought,  but  her  eyes  fast 
ened  on  a  pair  of  gold  armlets  which  held  the 
short  gauze  sleeves  in  place. 
105 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"And  who  gave  you  these  ?"  she  asked,  rising 
and  touching  the  armlets. 

The  boy  replied. 

"  They  were  father's  once.  He  wore  them 
put  together  as  a  watch-chain." 

The  color  flew  to  Mrs.  Schuyler's  face. 

"Where  do  these  children  come  from?  Who 
are  they  ?"  she  asked  Madame  Jeanne,  abruptly. 

Madame  walked  to  the  side  of  the  room,  and 
from  among  the  numberless  pictures  of  pos 
turing  professionals  and  framed  testimonials 
from  managers  and  patrons,  she  selected  one 
of  the  writings,  which  she  brought  to  Mrs. 
Schuyler. 

"  Blood  will  tell,"  said  madame.  "  This  is 
from  the  manager  of  that  child's  grandmother. 
Ah,  she  could  dance  !  I  taught  her  all  the  last 
year  before  her  debut." 

The  testimonial  was  a  half-jesting  tribute  to 
Madame  Jeanne  as  a  teacher,  and  was  signed 
by  a  well-known  manager.  "  Madame  La  Coste 
shows  that  she  has  been  trained  by  a  master- 
hand — or  foot,"  the  writing  ended. 

"  That,"  said  madame,  with  pride,  pointing 
to  the  dancer's  name  —  "that  is  my  Fairy's 
grandmamma,  Madame  La  Coste.  You  may 
have  heard  of  her." 

"  And  the  child's  mother  ?" 

"  She  also  is  named  La  Coste  —  Sara  La 
Coste." 

"  La  Coste  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Schuyler. 
106 


THE   CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

Madame  raised  her  eyebrows  and  turned  to 
hang  the  testimonial  on  its  nail. 

"  I  never  gossip,  I  never  question,  Sara  is 
known  to  me  by  her  mother's  name  only,  and 
I  teach  the  little  one  for  the  sake  of  her  dead 
grandmamma.  The  children  live  not  far  from 
here.  They  come  alone.  The  boy  brings  the 
girl." 

Mrs.  Schuyler  hesitated  for  a  moment,  look 
ing  from  one  child  to  the  other. 

"  I  will  take  them  home  in  my  carriage,"  she 
said,  suddenly,  "if  you  will  give  me  the  ad 
dress  and  if  the  lesson  is  over." 

"As  you  will,"  said  madame — thinking  again 
"  the  rich  have  queer  fancies." 

Mr.  Schuyler  was  standing  before  his  dress 
ing-room  mirror,  trying  to  fit  an  old-fashioned 
white  peruke  upon  his  head.  His  costume  led 
up  to  the  wig,  which  was  the  finishing-touch. 
A  painted  sketch  of  George  III.  in  full  court 
dress  stood  on  the  toilet-table  as  a  model  for 
frequent  consultation.  The  masquerader,  ab 
sorbed  in  his  toilet,  missed  hearing  a  rap  at 
his  door,  and  started  when  it  was  more  loudly 
repeated.  The  door  opened  before  he  could 
reply,  and  Mrs.  Schuyler  entered,  starting  back 
in  turn  as  her  husband  faced  her.  He  laughed 
and  came  forward,  a  man  seemingly  of  rather 
serious  mould  for  a  masquerade.  In  his  ordi 
nary  garb  he  was  what  might  have  been  term- 
107 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

ed  unimportant-looking,  but  he  had  a  kindly, 
sympathetic  face. 

"  Don't  you  remember  it's  '  Old  Christ 
mas'?"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "This  is  our  night 
of  misrule  at  the  club.  Do  I  look  like  a 
fool  ?" 

He  turned  to  the  glass,  and,  receiving  no  an 
swer,  went  on :  "  If  I  do,  I  suit  the  character 
of  my  namesake.  I  suppose  George  III.  was  a 
fool,  wasn't  he?  '  What — what — what' — that's 
my  catch-word,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Those  are  the  very  words  I  have  come  to 
say,"  replied  Mrs.  Schuyler.  "  Yes,  I  had  for 
gotten  'Old  Christmas.'  George,  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question.  Did  you  ever  see  these  be 
fore  ?" 

Mr.  Schuyler  turned  from  the  glass  quickly. 

"  Dear,  has  anything  happened  ?"  he  asked. 
"  You  look  faint.  I  am  afraid  this  dancing  is 
bad  for  you.  Sit  here." 

He  rolled  an  easy-chair  near  her,  and,  as  if 
accustomed  to  thus  caring  for  her,  drew  his 
wife  into  it  and  arranged  the  cushions  ;  only 
then  would  he  turn  to  the  armlets  she  still 
held  out  impatiently. 

"  These  ?"  he  said,  taking  the  armlets  from 
her.  He  lowered  his  voice  and  hesitated.  "  I 
gave  these  to  you,  dear,  not  long  ago.  You  used 
them  for  a  day." 

"No  —  no,"  she  cried,  shrinking.     "I  have 
those  laid  away  with  the — the  other  things." 
108 


THE  CHRISTMAS   MUMMERS 

Mr.  Schuyler  turned  the  links  over  in  his 
hand. 

"  Why,  these  belonged  to  James,"  he  said. 
"  We  each  had  a  pair  exactly  alike.  They  be 
longed  to  my  mother  and  her  twin  -  sister. 
James  wore  his  as  a  watch  -  chain.  See,  here 
are  the  marks  where  they  were  riveted  to 
gether." 

"  I  thought  I  remembered  your  telling  me 
so,"  said  Mrs.  Schuyler. 

"  How  did  you  get  them  ?"  her  husband 
asked. 

She  only  replied,  "  Tell  me  something  of 
James's  life  abroad." 

Mr.  Schuyler  frowned  slightly.  "  I  think  you 
know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do.  It  is  not  a  pleas 
ant  subject.  He  was  too  young  to  have  lived 
abroad  alone,  but  as  the  younger  brother  I 
could  do  nothing  to  prevent.it." 

"  Did  he  really  marry  the  woman  ?" 

"Yes,  that  was  all  regular,  fortunately  —  or 
unfortunately." 

"  And  her  name  ?" 

"  Was  Sara  La  Coste.  She  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  French  opera-dancer  connected  with 
an  English  company.  James  met  her  in  Lon 
don." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Schuyler.  "  I  thought  that 
was  the  name.  Go  on." 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  further  that  they  went 
to  Paris  to  live  and  were  unhappy  together. 
109 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

They  parted  after  a  very  few  years.  I  am  un 
der  the  impression  that  James  settled  a  small 
fortune  upon  her  and  left  her.  But  I  only 
know  that  he  came  home  alone,  and  has  been 
— I  can't  say  delicate,  but  very  reticent  on  the 
subject.  And  now  tell  me  why  you  ask  all 
this." 

"  First,  had  they  children  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  imagine  so.  James  was, 
as  I  say,  reticent  over  the  whole  matter.  I 
asked  him  once  if  there  were  children,  but  as 
he  chose  to  answer,  foolishly,  'Oh,  about  a 
dozen  or  so,'  I  really  don't  know  what  is  the 
truth." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Schuyler.  "  The  woman 
still  calls  herself  Sara  La  Coste.  She  is  now 
in  this  city  and  very  poor.  There  are  two  chil 
dren,  and  I  have  them  in  the  library  down 
stairs.  No,  I  am  not  raving,"  she  laughed,  in 
reply  to  her  husband's  anxious  look.  "  I  found 
the  two  children  at  Madame  Jeanne's,  and  as 
soon  as  I  learned  their  names  and  saw  these 
armlets  I  believed  I  knew  who  they  were,  and 
so  I  have  brought  them  straight  home  to  you 
— a  boy  and  a  girl — our  own  nephew  and  niece. 
James  can't  know  all  that  is  happening.  The 
girl  is  taking  charity  lessons  from  madame  with 
a  view  to  the  stage  and  supporting  her  wretch 
ed  mother.  She  has  already  danced  in  semi- 
public;  and  the  boy — oh,  I  don't  mind  about  the 
girl  so  much,  she  is  like  her  mother,  I  know  she 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

is — but  the  boy  is  one  of  us  ;  so  like  you  he 
might  have  been  ours,  and  he  has  your  name. 
James  must  have  named  him  for  you.  The 
mother  dresses  the  girl  like  a  princess  and  the 
boy  like  a  clown.  He  is  pitiably  neglected, 
and  looks  so  cowed  and  wretched  and  ill-treat 
ed  that  he  made  my  heart  sick." 

She  broke  down  with  an  excited  sob,  and 
rising  with  a  nervous  movement  looked  into 
the  dressing-table  mirror.  "  Oh,  why  do  women 
who  don't  deserve  them  or  care  for  them  have 
children  ?  If  I  were  only  strong,  George  !  Look 
at  me  now.  With  just  a  little  excitement,  a 
nervous  wreck."  She  looked  contemptuously 
at  the  reflection  of  her  delicate  face — "  a  piece 
of  faded  pink  calico ;  that  is  what  I  look 
like." 

Her  husband  drew  her  back  into  her  chair, 
his  arm  about  her. 

"  Pink  calico  fits  my  needs  better  than  bro 
cade,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "James  tried  the 
brocade." 

"  But  I  am  so  worthless.  What  do  I  make 
of  my  life  or  yours  ?" 

"You  only  make  me  perfectly  happy,"  he 
answered.  "  Stop  grieving,  dearest ;  am  not 
I  more  to  you  than  ten  sons  ?  Come,  tell  me 
more  of  the  children.  Do  I  understand  you 
have  stolen  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  the  time  I  have.  I  wanted  you  to 
see  them.  James  must  be  told  at  once.  Some- 
iii 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

thing  must  be  done.  Come  with  me  to  the 
library  and  see  the  children  yourself." 

They  went  down  the  stairs  together,  and 
Mrs.  Schuyler  opened  the  door.  Her  husband 
paused  at  the  threshold,  looking  in  at  the  two 
children,  who  stared  at  him  in  turn. 

"  Do  they  look  like  the  children  of  your 
brother,  or  like  those  of  a  circus-rider  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Schuyler. 

The  little  ones  had  thrown  aside  their  outer 
wraps,  and  Mr.  Schuyler  uttered  an  exclama 
tion  as  he  looked  at  the  two  variegated  cos 
tumes. 

"  The  girl  is  as  badly  dealt  with  as  the  boy, 
if  in  another  way,"  whispered  Mrs.  Schuyler. 

"  They  are  both  a  disgrace.  If  I  can  force 
him  here,  James  shall  see  them  just  as  we  see 
them  now — indecent  little  parroquets." 

"But  I  am  sure  he  cannot  know." 

Mr.  Schuyler  shook  his  head. 

"  You  have  more  faith  in  James  than  I  have. 
It  is  his  place  to  know." 

"  Where  shall  you  find  him  at  this  hour  ?" 

Mr.  Schuyler  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I'll  find 
him  at  the  club  by  now.  He  is  their  chosen 
king  of  misrule  to-night — and  his  own  every 
other  night,  I  think.  This  is  disgraceful !"  He 
looked  again  at  the  children,  whom  he  had  not 
approached. 

"  I  can't  feel  that  they  are  of  our  blood,"  he 
said.  "  They  look  like  little  mountebanks." 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

"  Not  the  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Schuyler,  quickly. 

"  No,"  admitted  Mr.  Schuyler.  "  Not  the  boy, 
in  spite  of  his  clothing."  He  turned  to  the 
door,  but  his  wife  intercepted  him. 

"  You  must  not  leave  them  alone  with  me," 
she  cried,  tremulously.  "  The  mother  might 
be  looking  for  them.  Madame  Jeanne  would 
give  her  my  address.  I  am  not  able  to  face  a 
scene.  Take  the  children  with  you.  You  can 
leave  them  in  the  carriage  outside  the  club 
and  bring  James  out  to  them." 

"  Will  they  go  with  me  ?"  asked  Mr.  Schuy 
ler. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  replied,  sorrowfully.  "  They 
came  with  me  unquestioningly.  They  obey 
any  one  who  orders  them,  just  as  little  poor 
children  do.  Do  take  them  with  you." 

Mr.  Schuyler  still  hesitated. 

"  There  is  just  the  chance  that  they  are  not 
James's  children,  after  all.  It  seems  a  risk  to 
run  off  yet  farther  with  them.  I  am  not  as 
adventurous  a  spirit  as  you  are,"  he  added, 
smiling.  "  I  shall  never  die  with  my  boots  on, 
as  you  probably  will." 

"  They  must  belong  to  James,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Schuyler.  "  Don't  you  see  how  like  you  the 
boy  is  ?  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to  look  at 
him." 

"  Yes,  he  is  like  me.  I  suppose  I  must  follow 
your  plan.  If  the  mother  should  pursue  us  tell 
her  I  am  taking  the  children  back  to  her.  Give 
H  113 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

me  her  address,  by  the  way,  for  if  James  dis 
owns  them  or  will  not  take  them,  they  must 
go  back  to  their  mother,  I  suppose." 

"  How  hardly  you  judge  James,"  Mrs.  Schuy- 
ler  interrupted.  "  If  they  are  >his  he  will  of 
course  take  them.  James  likes  me  better  than 
he  does  you.  Tell  him  it  was  I  who  found  the 
children,  and  I  who  sent  them  to  him.  Tell 
him  they  are  an  Old  Christmas  gift  from  me 
to  him." 

Mr.  Schuyler  did  not  understand  children  ; 
he  was  always  shy  with  them,  and  having  none 
of  his  own  he  was  ignorant  of  their  needs.  It 
was,  therefore,  a  somewhat  serious  matter  to 
him  to  look  across  the  carriage  at  his  two 
strange  charges,  sitting  obediently  on  the  nar 
row  seat  opposite.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
to  say  to  them,  and  needed  to  consider  how  best 
to  approach  his  brother  concerning  them  ;  but 
when  he  opened  the  carriage  door  and  stepped 
out  to  the  street  before  his  club-house  the  light 
from  the  entrance  lanterns  streamed  in  and  he 
began  to  regret  his  long  silence. 

"  Fairy's  scared,"  whispered  the  boy,  point 
ing  to  his  sister.  He  himself  was  very  white 
of  face,  and  his  eyes  were  round  and  inquiring. 

Mr.  Schuyler  could  see,  in  the  corner  of  the 
seat,  a  tossed  mass  of  gauze  and  spangles  half 
covered  by  the  coarse  wrap  the  child  wore. 
She  was  sobbing  with  terror,  and  yet,  as  Mrs. 
Schuyler  had  noted,  was  painfully  submissive, 
114 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

for,  supposing  she  was  to  be  lifted  from  the 
carriage,  she  scrambled  down  backward  from 
the  seat,  and,  shaken  with  sobs,  turned  her  wet 
face  to  the  door,  holding  out  her  arms  to  be 
taken. 

Mr.  Schuyler  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and 
the  sight  vanquished  him.  It  was  impossible 
to  leave  the  little  ones  outside  and  alone  in  the 
carriage,  nor  could  he  bring  himself  to  give  up 
his  mission  and  return  to  his  wife  unsuccess 
ful.  In  the  end  he  compromised  by  ordering 
that  the  carriage  should  be  driven  about  the 
block  until  the  children  were  reassured  by  him, 
and  until  he  believed  the  most  tardy  revellers 
must  have  arrived  for  their  night  of  misrule. 
Then  he  made  a  hasty  dash  up  the  club  steps 
with  a  child  clinging  to  each  hand.  As  an  old 
member  every  corner  of  the  building  was  fa 
miliar  to  him,  and  he  hurried  to  a  small  cloak 
room,  too  small  for  use,  he  knew,  on  this 
crowded  night.  As  he  dragged  the  staring  chil 
dren  through  the  halls  lined  with  Christmas- 
trees  and  gay  with  gilded  wreaths,  a  passing 
glance  in  a  mirror  made  Mr.  Schuyler  hasten 
his  steps.  He  realized  for  the  first  time  what 
a  curious  group  they  made,  he  in  his  royal 
dress  and  the  children  as  fantastically  arrayed 
as  if  they,  too,  were  part  of  the  Old  Christmas 
revels.  They  met  no  one  on  the  way,  however, 
except  a  smiling  servant,  who  evidently  ac 
cepted  the  trio  as  a  part  of  the  evening's  pag- 
"5 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

eant.  Mr.  Schuyler  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  he  closed  the  cloak-room  door  behind  him. 
There  was  an  angry  protest  in  his  heart  that 
a  man  might  not  sin  alone  and  alone  suffer  his 
own  consequences,  but  as  these  were  not  the 
first  harvests  that  the  younger  brother  had 
reaped  for  the  elder,  he  smothered  his  resent 
ment,  and,  as  usual,  did  what  he  could. 

After  some  coaxing,  aided  by  the  boy,  who 
seemed  to  have  regained  his  wonted  self-con 
trol,  Mr.  Schuyler  persuaded  the  little  girl 
that  she  was  not  afraid  to  wait  for  him  in  the 
brightly  lighted  apartment.  As  soon  as  he 
might  he  left  the  children  together,  hurrying 
to  the  large  hall  where  he  knew  his  brother 
would  be  found.  The  boyishness  which  had 
moved  him  to  plan  and  dress  with  genuine 
pleasure  for  this  night  had  all  been  wiped  away 
by  the  late  occurrences  of  the  evening.  He 
now  looked  down  on  his  costume  with  disgust, 
and  wondered  how  he  had  ever  seen  amuse 
ment  in  such  buffoonery.  The  feeling  of  dis 
gust  grew  on  him  as  he  neared  the  hall,  from 
which  he  began  to  hear  loud  bursts  of  laugh 
ter  and  applause.  A  crowd  of  masqueraders 
gathered  about  the  door  met  him  with  genial 
greetings  which  he  forced  himself  to  return, 
but  it  was  almost  more  than  his  patience  could 
stand  to  hear  on  all  sides  congratulations  that 
he  was  brother  to  the  man  he  had  come  to  ar 
raign  with  the  story  of  two  sadly  neglected  chil- 
116 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

dren  and  a  deserted  wife.  It  was  evident  that 
James  Schuyler  was  at  that  moment  distin 
guishing  himself  in  some  way  most  pleasing 
to  his  subjects  —  his  name  was  on  every  lip. 
Looking  up  at  a  stage  which  had  been  built 
at  one  end  of  the  hall,  Mr.  Schuyler  saw  his 
brother  and  could  have  groaned  aloud  with 
impatience.  There,  the  life  of  the  evening, 
the  chief  actor  in  a  Christmas  play  written  by 
himself,  paraded  the  king  of  misrule,  witty, 
brilliant  in  his  improvisations,  and  glowing 
with  the  pleasure  of  success. 

Mr.  Schuyler  made  his  way  behind  the  scenes, 
and  met  the  triumphant  king  as  he  made  his 
exit  and  the  curtain  fell. 

"  Hello  !"  said  James,  genially,  as  he  saw  his 
brother's  grave  face.  "  How  are  you  to-night  ? 
I'm  just  a  boy  again.  Old  Christmas  comes 
but  once  a  year.  What  makes  you  look  so 
serious,  George?" 

"  Because  I've  something  serious  to  say  to 
you,"  began  George,  in  a  lowered  voice. 

James  laughed. 

"  Did  I  ever  see  you  when  you  had  not  ? 
Worrying  over  me  is  what  makes  your  hair 
grow  gray." 

He  flicked  back  a  grizzled  lock  on  George's 
forehead. 

Troubled  and  hurried  as  he  was,  the  younger 
brother   could   not   resist   looking   up   at   the 
black-haired  man  by  him  with  a  half  smile. 
117 


J1MTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  We  all  as  a  family  grow  gray  early,"  he 
said,  dryly.  "You  are  peculiarly  lucky." 

"  None  of  your  sarcasm.  I  know  as  well  as 
you  do  that  I  dye  my  hair,  but  I  swear  it's  not 
for  vanity.  It  discourages  me  too  much  to  see 
the  marks  of  old  age  creeping  on  every  time  I 
look  in  the  glass.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
play  ?" 

"  I  have  been  too  troubled  to  think  of  it.  I 
must  see  you  alone  and  at  once  on  a  matter  of 
importance." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  pleaded  the  king  of 
misrule,  "  it's  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  talk 
business  now.  You  must  see  that  yourself. 
There  goes  the  curtain  up  again.  My  cue 
comes  in  a  moment.  Stand  here  by  me,"  he 
added,  good-humoredly,  "and  listen  a  bit.  I 
wrote  all  the  lines  for  the  mummers  myself." 

He  was  as  excited  as  a  playwright  whose  all 
hangs  on  the  public  verdict.  In  the  doubtful 
passages  he  gnawed  his  lip,  and  where  the  hits 
told  he  rose  on  tiptoe,  his  face  glowing,  his 
brow  triumphant. 

"  I  can't  attend  to  you  now,  George.  You 
must  see  I  can't,"  he  repeated,  and  then  brush 
ing  gently  past  his  brother  with  a  courtesy 
which  never  failed  him,  he  rushed  on  the  stage 
as  his  cue  sounded. 

Mr.  Schuyler  walked  back  to  the  body  of  the 
hall.  It  was  useless  for  him  to  linger  there,  as 
he  saw,  and  after  the  curtain  fell  for  the  last 
118 


THE   CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

time  he  had  yet  to  wait  patiently  and  even  to 
make  one  of  the  uproarious  procession  which 
swept  round  and  round  the  hall,  kept  in  step 
by  a  heavy  brass  band  playing  in  a  balcony 
overhead.  However  reluctant,  he  was  forced 
to  the  honor  of  carrying  aloft  the  dish  with 
the  old-time  boar's-head,  while  others  followed 
in  his  train  bearing  grotesquely  inscribed  ban 
ners  and  high -held  dishes  containing  other 
emblematic  absurdities.  Not  the  least  ridicu 
lous  sight  in  Mr.  Schuyler's  eyes  was  that  of 
his  own  brother  being  carried  in  mimic  rever 
ence  on  a  chair  at  the  procession's  head.  As 
the  procession  at  last  broke  rank  Mr.  Schuyler 
seized  his  chance. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you,"  he  said,  resolutely, 
drawing  the  king  from  his  throne.  "It  is  im 
perative.  Come  away  with  me  quickly." 

"  Why  not  speak  here  ?"  asked  James,  in 
dolently.  He  was  vexed  at  this  persistence. 
"  Have  you  bad  news  for  me?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  may  call  it." 

James  Schuyler  glanced  at  his  brother  with 
a  kind  of  tolerant  affection.  "  It  can't  be  very 
bad.  Your  wife's  all  right  or  you  wouldn't  be 
here.  You  show  for  yourself,  so  every  one  I 
care  for  is  excluded ;  and  if  it's  money,  it 
would  rather  amuse  me  than  otherwise  to  find 
myself  a  pauper.  It  would  give  me  something 
to  do." 

"  Only  to  ask  '  God  bless  me  and  my  wife, 
119 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

and  my  brother  George  and  his  wife,'  would 
include  more  than  you  do." 

"  So,"  said  James,  quickly,  and  with  lowered 
voice.  He  puckered  his  lips  into  a  whistle. 
"  Sets  the  wind  in  that  quarter  ?  It's  Sara,  is 
it  ?  Go  on." 

"This  is  not  the  place  to  speak,  but  since 
you  insist  I  must  be  abrupt.  How  many  chil 
dren  have  you,  James,  and  when  did  you  see 
them  last  ?  I  have  a  reason  for  asking.  Don't 
evade  me  as  usual." 

"  I  will  not.  I  have  two  children,  a  boy  and 
a  girl.  The  boy  I  don't  remember  particularly; 
he  was  a  good  infant,  but  profoundly  uninter 
esting,  both  to  his  mother  and  to  me  —  con 
tinually  reminded  me  of  you,  by-the-way.  I 
named  him  for  you.  The  girl  was  a  little 
beauty.  The  last  time  I  saw  her  was  when  Sara 
decided  to  leave  me  in  France  and  return  to 
her  people  in  England." 

"  Was  it  she  who  deserted  you,  then  ?"  asked 
the  younger  brother,  hopefully. 

James  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  happened  so,  but  if  she  had  not  gone 
then,  I  should  later.  I  took  my  family  to  the 
steamer  in  proper  marital  fashion,  and  saw 
them  off.  I  remember  that  the  little  girl 
peeped  out  and  smiled  at  me  through  the  port 
hole.  She  was  like  the  most  exquisite  minia 
ture.  I  have  never  forgotten  that  lovely  child's 
face,  framed  in  the  round  setting.  In  fact,  she 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

is  the  only  one  of  the  party  I  ever  regretted. 
Have  I  told  you  all  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"Was  that  last  remark  born  of  fatherly  in 
terest,  or  artistic  feeling  only?  Would  you 
really  care  to  see  the  child  again  ?  Good  God  ! 
there  she  is  !" 

"Who  is?"  said  James,  turning. 

A  chorus  of  shouts  drowned  their  voices, 
and  the  band  above  them  had  burst  out  into 
a  tumult  of  dance-music.  The  masqueraders 
were  all  crowding  into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  your  Majesty,"  said 
one  of  the  revellers,  drawing  near  with  mock 
reverences  and  mincing  steps,  "but  mirth 
lagged,  and  as  I  by  chance  discovered  the  sur 
prise  you  were  holding  back  for  us,  I  loosed  it 
at  once  and  here  it  is." 

"Good  God  !"  muttered  George  again. 

He  drew  his  brother  to  the  edge  of  the  circle 
which  had  formed,  and  thrust  a  way  through 
for  them  both.  In  the  midst  of  the  ring  of 
laughing,  admiring  spectators  he  saw  little 
Fairy  leaping  and  twirling,  her  small  feet  fly 
ing,  and  her  eyes  glowing  with  elation,  as  her 
father's  had  on  the  mummers'  stage.  The 
heavy  beat  of  the  brass  band  seemed  to  stimu 
late  her  to  something  more  than  the  usual  im 
mature  grace  of  childish  dancing.  The  blood 
of  artist  dancers  in  her  veins  answered  hotly  to 
the  applause  and  shouts  of  "  Brava  !"  The  mo 
tions  of  her  arms  and  bird-like  head  and  eyes 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

were  in  such  perfect  accord  with  her  weaving 
feet  as  to  make  each  step  a  wonderfully  har 
monious  movement  for  the  whole  body.  George 
Schuyler,  aghast  as  he  was,  paused  fascinated, 
gazing  at  the  inspired  little  dancer.  Adding 
a  final  touch  to  the  fantastic  scene,  the  child's 
flying  feet  were  followed  by  the  little  boy,  who 
was  vainly  striving  to  catch  and  hold  her.  He 
pursued  her  about  the  circle  with  clumsy  mo 
tions  and  groping  hands  which  she  easily  avoid 
ed  by  springing  to  right  or  left,  light  as  a  but 
terfly  and  mischievous  as  a  kitten.  The  entire 
left  side  of  the  boy's  face  was  masked  clown- 
like  by  a  coating  of  thick  white  paint  spotted 
with  red,  and  his  odd  clothing,  half  of  one 
color,  half  of  another,  carried  out  too  faithfully 
the  clown  appearance  ;  but  despite  disguise  his 
face  as  plainly  expressed  a  distressed  determi 
nation  to  hold  his  sister  as  hers  a  mischievous 
play  to  avoid  him. 

"You  are  a  princely  king  of  misrule,"  said 
the  reveller  who  had  spoken  before.  "  The 
clown  is  fair,  sir  king,  but  the  girl  is  an  inspi 
ration.  I  ventured  to  add  that  touch  of  paint 
to  the  clown's  face.  We  had  some  difficulty 
in  persuading  him  to  his  part  until  you  gave 
the  word,  but  the  girl  was  wild  from  the  time 
she  heard  the  music." 

"  Be  careful,"  whispered  George  in  his  broth 
er's  ear.  "  Those  are  your  two  children !" 

He  could  not  be  sure  that  James  had  heard 

122 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

him,  for  at  that  moment  the  little  boy  caught 
sight  of  George  Schuyler  and  ran  to  his 
side. 

"Oh,  did  you  bring  us  here  for  this?"  he 
cried,  with  the  pitiful  acceptance  of  one  used 
to  being  disposed  of  as  others  wished.  "  They 
told  me  you  did.  I  wanted  to  wait  for  you, 
but  I  couldn't  hold  Fairy  back." 

Before  George  could  answer,  the  king  of  mis 
rule  had  broken  through  the  circle  and  picked 
up  the  pursuit  where  the  boy  dropped  it.  He 
seized  the  little  sprite  by  the  waist  in  one  of 
her  bounds,  and,  lifting  her  yet  higher,  set  her 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Who  dares  to  anticipate  my  surprises  ?"  he 
cried,  looking  around.  "  Out  of  my  way,  there, 
subjects." 

He  forced  his  way  through  the  laughing  cir 
cle,  and  then  for  a  moment  hesitated,  when 
George,  grasping  his  purpose,  caught  up  the 
boy  and  made  his  way  to  his  brother's  side. 

"  This  way,"  he  whispered,  as,  closely  pursued 
by  the  crew  of  misrule,  they  rushed  down  the 
hallway  and  just  in  time  flung  to  the  door  of 
the  little  cloak-room  between  themselves  and 
their  followers. 

"  Now,"  said  James,  coolly  turning  the  key  in 
the  lock,  unmindful  of  shouts  from  without 
and  blows  rained  upon  the  door.  "  Now,  I  sup 
pose  I  am  in  the  bosom  of  my  family,  if  what 
you  say  is  true." 

123 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Look  at  them,  and  tell  me  what  you  think." 

James  dropped  into  a  chair  with  little  Fairy 
on  his  knee  and  took  her  flushed  face  between 
his  two  hands.  There  was  admiration,  but 
nothing  paternal,  that  George  could  detect,  in 
his  look.  However,  he  stooped  and  kissed  the 
child  before  he  set  her  on  the  floor. 

"  That's  the  same  little  face  that  looked  out 
of  the  port-hole,"  he  said.  "  Run  off  and  play 
with  your  brother.  Th*ere  are  some  chess-men 
in  that  box  in  the  corner.  Wait  a  moment." 
This  to  the  boy,  whom  he  caught  by  the  arm 
as  he  passed.  He  laughed  and  released  him 
after  a  brief  look  at  the  undaubed  side  of  the 
boy's  face. 

"  More  like  you  than  ever,"  he  said. 

"  So  Janet  thinks,"  George  answered. 

"Janet?  What  does  she  know  about  the 
children  ?  Has  she  seen  them  ?" 

Mr.  Schuyler  remembered  his  wife's  mes 
sage. 

"  It  was  she  who  found  them,  and  she  who 
told  me  to  bring  them  to  you  with  her  love  as 
her  Old  Christmas  gift  to  you." 

"  Dear  old  Janet,"  said  the  brother-in-law, 
with  more  feeling  than  he  had  yet  shown. 
"  She  is  the  only  woman  in  the  world  whom  I 
respect,  and  she's  the  only  being  in  this  world, 
I  honestly  believe,  who  respects  me  or  expects 
any  good  of  me.  Be  sure  you  thank  her  for 
me,  George.  Don't  forget.  And  now,  how  did 
124 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

she  find  them  ?"  he  asked,  curiously.  "  What 
are  they  doing  on  this  side  of  the  water  ?  Have 
you  got  Sara  hidden  somewhere  behind  the 
arras  ?" 

It  was  not  very  much  that  George  knew,  but 
that  little  he  told  with  all  the  quiet  passion  of 
his  nature,  dwelling  on  his  wife's  discovery  of 
the  unfortunate  condition  of  the  children,  the 
neglect  and  evident  unhappiness  of  the  boy, 
and  the  education  of  the  girl  as  a  public  dancer. 
He  was  indignant  when,  as  he  ended,  James 
burst  into  a  peal  of  loud  laughter,  evidently 
long  suppressed. 

"  Oh,  Sara — Sara,"  said  the  amused  husband. 
"  It's  the  same  old  Sara.  Clever  is  no  word  for 
her.  And  dear  old  Janet  has  played  straight 
into  her  hands.  It's  queer  how  strong  a  weak 
ness  can  be.  I  always  had  a  weakness  for  Sara, 
and  I  feel  it  again  now.  You  can't  understand  ? 
Well,  no,  you  wouldn't  unless  you  knew  Sara. 
She's  tired  of  this  way  of  living  and  wants  me 
back  again,  that's  all.  She's  followed  me  over 
here.  No,  she  doesn't  need  money.  She  ran 
through  all  I  left  her  in  short  season,  to  be 
sure,  but  she's  been  banking  on  my  lawyer 
with  my  permission  and  connivance  ever  since. 
Lately  she  hasn't  asked  for  money,  so  I  knew 
some  scheme  would  develop  sooner  or  later. 
This  is  it.  Mark  my  words.  The  girl  was  sent 
to  Madame  Jeanne  purely  because  Sara  dis 
covered  that  your  wife  went  there.  The  lesson 
125 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

was  timed  to  follow  hers.  It's  all  a  careful 
plan  of  Sara's.  That  boy's  clothing,  too — look 
at  it !  A  mere  ruse  to  catch  Janet's  compas 
sionate  eye.  Those  are  no  remnants.  Sara  de 
liberately  bought  the  two  pieces  off  the  rolls." 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  pride,  which  George 
answered  with  horror  in  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  think  your  wife  has 
deliberately  sacrified  both  your  children  to  a 
ruse  to  gain  your  attention,  when  she  could  as 
well  have  openly  sought  you  ?" 

"That's  about  it,"  said  the  undisturbed  fa 
ther,  "  but  Sara  knows  me  better  than  you  do. 
I  like  cleverness.  I  might  not  have  been  found 
if  sought  openly.  As  it  is,  the  boy  she  wouldn't 
have  hesitated  to  sacrifice — she  never  cared  for 
him  —  and  the  girl  will  only  be  improved  by 
knowing  how  to  dance  like  a  fire-fly.  I  think 
I  never  saw  such  child-dancing." 

He  glanced  at  the  corner  where  the  two  list 
less  children  were  obediently  pretending  to 
play  with  the  chess-men.  Their  docility  hurt 
George  Schuyler,  as  it  had  his  wife. 

"What  will  you  do  with  the  poor  little 
things  ?"  he  asked,  compassionately. 

The  father  stood  looking  at  them,  thinking 
with  a  lazy  slowness. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  have  almost  de 
cided  to  be  amiable  and  play  into  Sara's  hands 
as  meekly  as  Janet  did  ?  Suppose  I  were  to 
steal  the  children  to-night  and  take  them  home 
126 


THE   CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

with  me.  I  can  send  word  to  Sara  that  I  have 
them.  I  suppose  you  have  her  address  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  George,  shortly. 

"  Good.  She  will  then  play  the  frantic  moth 
er,  I  the  newly  awakened  father.  Neither  will 
be  able  to  bear  parting  with  the  children,  and 
so  in  a  day  or  two,  perhaps,  we  shall  all  four 
sail  for  Europe  together,  and  come  back  after 
several  years,  respectable  members  of  society. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  programme  ?" 

George  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  the  whole  affair  is 
about  as  indelicate  and  unfeeling  as  anything 
I  ever  heard.  Why  can't  you  go  to  your  wife 
and  talk  with  her  ?" 

James  rose  also,  with  undisturbed  good-nat 
ure,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to  see  it  our  way,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  you  ought  to  remember  that,  after 
all,  Sara  and  I  are  not  a  very  delicate  or  feel 
ing  pair — at  least,  not  as  you  and  Janet  are. 
Sara  does  not  know  how  to  come  to  me  or 
I  to  go  to  her.  It  takes  all  kinds  of  men  and 
women  to  make  a  world.  To  be  honest,  if  it  is 
any  comfort  to  you,  I  have  a  sneaking  feeling 
of  pleasure  in  thinking  of  becoming  a  family 
man  again.  I  told  you  I  wanted  something  to 
do.  Neither  Sara  nor  I  are  so  young  as  we 
once  were.  We  shall  quarrel  less,  I  fancy.  I 
have  the  idea,  from  hints  my  mediating  lawyer 
has  dropped,  that  each  of  us  has  been  for  some 
127 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

time  stabling  a  calf  bursting  with  the  fat  of 
forgiveness,  all  ready  for  the  other  to  eat,  but 
each  of  us,  you  see,  wanted  his  or  her  own  calf 
eaten.  I  know  I  feel  kindly  enough  towards 
Sara,  and  I  think  she  has  arranged  to  avoid 
eating  either  calf  rather  cleverly.  I  am  grate 
ful  to  her  for  it." 

A  large  clock  outside  in  the  hall  struck 
twelve  with  booming  strokes,  aided  by  heavy 
echoes  from  the  brass  kettles  of  the  band. 

James  held  out  his  hand  to  his  brother. 

"  It's  the  opening  of  another  year  for  me," 
he  said.  "  I  am  in  earnest  in  my  way,  George. 
You  can't  write  clearly  on  a  blotting-pad,  and 
that's  the  stuff  I'm  made  of.  But  I  am  tired 
of  this  old  leaf,  and  evidently  Sara  is  also. 
We'll  flutter  over  a  new  leaf.  I  can't  promise 
much  for  it,  either,  but  we'll  try  it.  I'll  purge 
and  live  cleanly  as  a  gentleman,  and  I  think  I 
shall  enjoy  the  little  girl.  She  shall  dance  for 
me  at  night,  after  coffee.  Tell  Janet  I  appre 
ciate  her  gift." 

"  And  the  boy  ?"  asked  George,  still  holding 
his  brother's  hand.  "  Janet  had  more  anxiety 
for  him  than  for  the  girl.  He  has  not  even 
been  taught  his  letters." 

"  Well,  if  he  doesn't  even  know  his  a  b  c's, 
I  think  a  boarding-school  will  be  best  for  him. 
Yes,  you  can  tell  Janet  that  the  girl  will  sail 
with  us  and  the  boy  will  go  to  a  boarding- 
school.  I  hope  I  play  the  thoughtful  father 
128 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

to  your  satisfaction,  George.  What  a  pity  you 
lost  your  boy.  You  and  Janet  are  born  par 
ents.  She  has  never  been  quite  the  same  since 
then,  has  she  ?" 

George  Schuyler's  face  changed.  He  dropped 
his  brother's  hand. 

"  Suppose — "  he  began,  quickly,  then  check 
ed  himself.  "  Never  mind.  I  wish  you  a  good 
voyage,  James,  in  all  its  meanings.  I  will  give 
your  message  to  Janet.  Good-night." 

He  turned  to  the  door,  unlocked  it,  and  went 
out  abruptly. 

For  a  moment  James  stood  perplexed.  "  Now, 
what  was  George  going  to  say?"  he  thought 
aloud.  "What  upset  him?"  Suddenly  he  hur 
ried  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open,  calling  down 
the  hall,  "  George — George — I  have  something 
to  propose  to  you." 

Between  George  Schuyler  and  his  wife  there 
was  but  one  subject  of  real  difference,  and  that 
lay  in  a  lower  drawer  of  her  bureau,  to  which 
she  kept  the  key.  More  than  once,  coming  into 
the  room  hastily,  Mr.  Schuyler  had  found  his 
wife  dropping  tears  upon  some  little  garments 
that  lay  folded  away  in  that  drawer,  and  more 
than  once  he  had  threatened  to  turn  the  lock 
and  keep  the  key  himself.  It  was  before  this 
forbidden  drawer  that  Mrs.  Schuyler  was  sit 
ting  alone  when  the  clock  struck  twelve  on  Old 
Christmas  night.  On  her  knees  lay  one  tiny 
i  129 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

tumbled  garment,  which  she  touched  now  and 
then  with  a  reverence  that  was  like  passion. 
In  the  sleeves  of  the  gown  were  fastened  a 
pair  of  gold  armlets  like  those  little  Fairy  had 
worn.  The  drawer  was  full  of  such  garments, 
all  white  and  immaculate  ;  only  this  one  bore 
slight  marks  of  wear,  and  Mrs.  Schuyler  was 
sitting  with  it  on  her  knees  as  by  an  open 
grave.  She  had  so  sat  since  her  husband  left 
her,  wrapped  in  her  memories.  It  was  his  re 
turning  footsteps  on  the  stair  outside  that  at 
last  roused  her  suddenly.  She  closed  the  draw 
er  with  guilty  haste,  looking  in  the  mirror  at  her 
flushed  face,  but  had  only  time  to  wipe  the  fresh 
tears  from  her  cheeks  when  the  door  opened. 
Forcing  a  smile,  she  went  to  meet  her  hus 
band.  Her  voice  trembled  as  she  asked,  "  Did 
all  go  well  ?" 

Mr.  Schuyler  did  not  seem  to  notice  her 
emotion.  He  came  to  her,  took  her  two  hands 
in  his,  and  then  she  saw  the  agitation  in  his 
own  face. 

"What  have  you  there?"  asked  Mr.  Schuy 
ler,  looking  down. 

The  tumbled  garment  which  had  lain  on  her 
knees,  and  which  she  had  forgotten  in  her 
haste,  fell  to  the  ground  between  the  husband 
and  wife.  With  a  hurt  cry  Mrs.  Schuyler  stoop 
ed  to  lift  it,  but  her  husband  held  her. 

"  Let  it  lie,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

He  looked  closely  at  her.  "  So  you  have  been 
130 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MUMMERS 

grieving  to-night  again.  Look  up  at  me,  dear 
est.  I  have  something  to  tell  you — something 
to  show  you.  Are  you  strong  enough  to  be 
surprised  ?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  hurried 
to  the  door  and  opened  it.  On  the  threshold 
outside  stood  the  little  boy,  still  in  the  clown 
costume,  with  his  small  face  stained  with  tears 
and  paint,  and  his  lips  quivering  as  pitifully 
as  when  Mrs.  Schuyler  had  first  seen  him  in 
Madame  Jeanne's  dancing-hall.  He  looked  up 
at  them  with  swimming  eyes. 

"  This  is  the  return  Christmas  gift  James 
sends  you,"  said  Mr.  Schuyler,  excitedly.  "  Do 
you  understand,  Janet  ?  James  sends  him  to 
you." 

Mrs.  Schuyler  glanced  from  him  back  to  the 
child,  bewildered. 

"To  me?" 

"  To  you,"  repeated  her  husband,  deliberate 
ly.  "  As  a  free  gift  to  you,  offered  freely  and 
unconditionally,  unless  it  pains  you  to  accept 
him  as  yours.  Shall  you  want  to  take  him, 
dear?" 

"Oh,  do  take  me  !"  wailed  the  child,  sudden 
ly.  "  Don't  anybody  at  all  want  me?" 

He  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with 
unchildlike  emotion,  and  with  a  cry  of  compas 
sion  Mrs.  Schuyler  fell  on  her  knees,  gather 
ing  him  into  her  arms  and  rocking  him  like  a 
baby  on  her  breast,  taking  him  to  her  with 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

broken  words  that  did  not  need  to  be  articulate. 
Her  husband  started  as  he  recognized  the 
mother-note  in  her  voice.  Once  before  he  had 
heard  that  tone,  and  believed  he  never  would 
again.  He  looked  back  at  the  little  garment 
forgotten  on  the  floor,  then,  moving  softly, 
lifted  it  and  hid  it  away  in  the  drawer. 

He  smiled  as  he  heard  his  wife's  glad  voice 
calling  him. 

"Oh, come,"  she  cried.  "What  are  you  wait 
ing  for  ?  I  want  to  share  my  Christmas  gift 
with  you." 


CONCEALED   WEAPONS 

"  BUT,  my  dear,"  said  the  admiral,  "  your 
aunt  would  surely  be  more  helpful  to  you  here 
than  I." 

Marion  looked  out  of  the  window,  across  the 
green  grass  of  the  campus,  down  the  terrace, 
and  over  the  sea-wall,  from  which  the  waters 
of  the  river  spread  away  like  a  royal  purple 
mantle,  picked  out  with  silver  sails  of  pleasure- 
boats  and  straggling  sloops.  Before  she  re 
plied  she  had  mechanically  counted  over  all 
the  sails  in  sight. 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle.  I  seemed  moved  to 
speak  to  you.  But  if  you  would  rather 
not — " 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  ;  not  at  all.  I  was  think 
ing  only  of  you,  and  that  a  woman  might  bet 
ter  understand  how  to  advise  with  you.  How 
ever,  I  will  endeavor  to  be  as  womanly  as  one 
avowedly  a  man  of  action  may.  And  so  young 
Arnold  covets  you,  does  he?  He  must  have 
done  so  almost  at  first  sight.  Well,  I  don't 
blame  him." 

He  smiled  into  his  niece's  serious  eyes,  but 
133 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

her  face  remained  unchanged,  and  the  admiral 
went  on  with  more  gravity  : 

"  If  I  had  been  blessed  with  daughters  of 
my  own,  I  should  know  better  how  to  speak  to 
you.  As  it  is,  you  will  have  to  help  me  a  little. 
Should  I  draw  you  out  gently,  or  straightly 
question  you  ?  What  would  you  like  me  to 
do?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  all  that  you  can  tell 
me  of  Mr.  Arnold." 

The  admiral  lifted  his  eyebrows  slightly. 
His  favorite  cat  had  been  sitting  on  the  table 
by  his  elbow,  and  he  whisked  her  away  with 
his  handkerchief,  then  straightened  the  papers 
which  lay  before  him,  and  set  his  stick  of  seal 
ing-wax,  his  pen,  and  paper-knife  in  a  method 
ical  row. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  dryly,  "that  the  young 
woman  of  to-day  is  more  sensible,  and  that  I 
am  an  old  fogy.  In  my  generation  she  was 
the  'lovely  burden';  and  if  the  burden  some 
times  outweighed  the  beauty,  we  at  least  had 
the  theory  of  romance.  To  come  to  business, 
Marion,  as  I  warned  you  on  your  arrival,  I 
know  but  little  of  any  one  here,  my  present 
duty  being  still  new.  Regarding  Mr.  Arnold, 
I  think  it  probable  that  you  know  more  con 
cerning  him  than  I.  Had  I  dreamed  of  his 
representing  more  than  one  in  the  dozen  hov 
ering  about  you,  or  had  he  spoken  to  me  first, 
it  would  have  been  different.  For  his  present, 
134 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

I  can  only  tell  you  that  he  has  led  his  class 
statistically  and  in  spirit,  and  that  he  has  pass 
ed  through  the  furnace  of  a  social  favoritism 
unscathed.  For  his  future  I  can  prophesy  as 
useful  and  brilliant  a  career  as  the  government 
permits  to  an  officer  of  its  navy  ;  but  of  his 
past,  his  people,  and  his  private  means,  which 
is  just  the  information  I  suppose  you  want,  I 
know  nothing  whatever." 

As  he  ended,  the  admiral  looked  up  at  his 
niece's  profile.  She  was  sitting  motionless  on 
the  couch  opposite  him,  her  hands  folded  on 
her  lap,  her  eyes  still  gazing  out  of  the  win 
dow.  There  was  an  expression  which  he  did 
not  understand  upon  her  face.  The  admiral's 
voice  softened. 

"  I  can,  of  course,  find  out  all  you  wish  to 
know  concerning  Mr.  Arnold,  Marion  ;  but,  ex 
cept  on  one  condition,  I  have  no  reason,  no 
right,  to  pry  into  his  affairs,  and  I  am  old-fash 
ioned  enough  to  feel  that  no  one  has  the  right 
to  ask  you  the  question  which  I  must  now  ask, 
except  the  one  being  to  whom  your  answer 
means  everything.  To  me  a  woman  is  as  the 
sphinx — to  guess  her  heart's  riddle  is  to  dash 
her  from  her  heights."  He  rose  to  seat  him 
self  on  the  couch  by  Marion's  side.  "  Your 
having  no  father,  Marion,  and  the  fact  that 
your  mother  intrusted  you  to  your  aunt  and 
me,  only  after  many  misgivings,  make  me 
doubly  responsible.  Therefore  —  will  you  let 
135 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

me  ask  you  if  you  love  Mr.  Arnold,  my  dear  ?" 
It  was  the  admiral  who  blushed.  Marion  look 
ed  into  his  face  with  the  same  unbroken  seri 
ousness. 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle." 

"  You  do  not  know  !  What  does  that  mean, 
my  dear  ?  Do  you  want  more  time  for  consid 
eration,  or  do  you  wish  first  to  learn  if  it  would 
be  wise  to  let  yourself  love  him  ?" 

"  I  already  know  that  nothing  on  earth  could 
be  more  unwise  for  me." 

"  Then,  as  I  said,  you  know  far  more  about 
him  than  I.  Do  you  be  my  informant.  Come, 
help  me  a  little,  my  dear.  I  am  only  a  rough 
old  sea-dog,  you  know.  You  must  teach  me 
to  be  womanly  with  you.  As  an  individual  I 
believe  in  Mr.  Arnold.  Is  it  his  parentage  that 
is  at  fault  ?" 

"Yes,  his  parentage." 

The  admiral  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 
"Well,  then,"  he  said,  with  a  half-smile,  "you 
know  just  what  you  would  have  to  face  in  your 
mother's  opposition.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  should 
a  little  dread  taking  my  share  of  it.  'Thou 
shalt  have  ancestry'  is  her  eleventh  command 
ment." 

Marion  moved  restlessly.  "  I  know.  She 
would  never  give  her  consent  to  Mr.  Ar 
nold." 

The  admiral  held  his  gray-mustached  upper 
lip  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  looking  out 
136 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

thoughtfully  at  his  niece  from  under  his  white 
eyebrows. 

"  How  bad  is  it,  Marion  ?  After  all,  the  ser 
vice  is  a  cloak  for  many  sins  of  birth.  I  sup 
pose  Arnold  himself  confessed  this  shortcom 
ing  to  you  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  learned  it  from  his  mother  and  sis 
ter." 

"  His  mother  and  sister,  eh  ?   Are  they  here?" 

"They  came  yesterday  for  a  week's  visit." 

"And  you  have  seen  them  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  them  to-day." 

Certain  little  lines  that  the  admiral  had  no 
ticed  about  his  wife's  eyes  and  mouth  when  in 
bodily  pain  he  now  recognized  drawn  in  Mar 
ion's  face,  where  they  disturbed  him.  He  raised 
his  hand  involuntarily  as  if  to  smooth  them 
away,  but  Marion  withdrew  quickly.  Her  lip 
quivered. 

"  Not  yet,  please,  uncle." 

"  Go  on,  my  dear,"  said  the  admiral.  "I  un 
derstand.  What  were  the  mother  and  sister 
like?" 

"  It  would  be  easier  to  tell  you  that  they 
were  unlike  anything  that  might  have  been 
expected.  You  have  probably  seen  them  walk 
ing  about  the  grounds — they  are  conspicuous 
enough.  The  daughter  is  a  tall,  unwholesome- 
looking  parody  on  her  brother.  Her  costume 
this  afternoon  was  a  number  of  ribbon-bows 
tacked  together,  apparently.  She  might  as 
137 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

well  have  worn  a  crazy-quilt.  The  mother  is 
a  large  woman.  She  dresses  in  black,  and  ev 
ery  article  she  wears  is  too  small  or  too  short. 
Her  sleeves  do  not  meet  her  gloves  by  three 
inches  ;  the  flesh  sticks  out  between  them  like 
red  bracelets.  Her  bonnet  is  too  small  also, 
and  is  tied  tightly  under  her  chin ;  her  face 
seems  to  gush  out  between  the  strings — 

"  Marion  !"  the  admiral  remonstrated.  "  Mar 
ion  !" 

His  niece  laughed  unnaturally. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  it  all  just  as  I  did.  If 
the  bare  description  shocks  you  so  deeply,  what 
do  you  suppose  the  reality  was  to  me  ?" 

"  I  think  I  am  more  bewildered  than  shock 
ed.  I  did  promise  you  that  I  would  try  to  be 
womanly;  but  not  being  a  milliner,  and,  indeed, 
peculiarly  ignorant  of  woman's  dress,  your  de 
scription  conveys  about  as  little  to  me  as  the 
price  of  the  materials  would.  And  then,  my 
dear,  I  did  not  expect  to  have  to  remind  you 
that  dress  is  not  a  criterion.  These  women 
may  be  provincial,  and  yet  of  good  enough 
standing." 

"  I  thought  of  all  that,  but  they  are  not  from 
the  provinces.  They  come  from  a  large  city." 

"  You  have  talked  with  them,  then  ?  When 
did  you  meet  them?  Tell  me  your  story  in 
your  own  fashion.  I  will  not  interrupt  you 
again." 

"  I  met  them  walking  in  the  grounds  when  I 
138 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

was  strolling  this  afternoon  with  Mr.  Arnold. 
They  were  in  a  distant  path,  and  he  could  easily 
have  avoided  the  introduction.  It  was  of  his 
own  seeking.  He  seemed  fond  of  them." 

"  Do  you  place  that  to  his  discredit,  Marion  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  am  not  able  to  connect 
him  with  them  as  yet ;  they  seem  of  another 
flesh  and  blood." 

"  Is  that  all  that  you  have  to  tell  me  about 
them  ?"  asked  the  admiral. 

His  niece  had  paused.     She  went  on  slowly  : 

"No;  that  is  not  all.  One  of  the  officers 
passed  us,  and  drew  Mr.  Arnold  away  for  a 
few  moments'  talk.  While  he  was  gone  the 
sister  began  telling  me  how  they  had  planned 
their  visit  as  a  surprise  to  her  brother,  and  how 
her  father  had  meant  to  come  with  them,  but 
some  people  '  dropping  in '  had  detained  him 
at  the  last  moment.  I  said  that  I  was  sorry, 
and  all  the  rest  that  I  should  have  said.  I  real 
ly  behaved  well,  uncle." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that,  my  dear,"  replied  the 
admiral ;  "  I  don't  doubt  that  for  a  moment." 

"  I  said  I  thought  I  should  have  let  the  peo 
ple  wait,  and  then  she  said  no,  I  would  not ; 
for  they  had  come  to  negotiate  some  rather 
important  loans." 

The  admiral's  face  brightened.     "A  broker  ! 
Come,  that's  not  bad  at  all.     There's  nothing 
disreputable  there,  anyhow.    Even  your  moth 
er  would  have  to  acknowledge  that." 
139 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me.  I  was  thinking  just 
that  while  the  girl  was  speaking.  She  was  men 
tioning  further  that  her  father  was  a  property 
broker  when  the  mother,  who  had  moved  aside, 
turned  back  again  to  tell  me  of  her  husband's 
disappointment,  and  how  his  eyes  had  filled 
with  tears,  when  they  left  him  behind.  They 
seem  an  affectionate  family.  She  said  he  had 
to  stay  at  home,  for — "  Marion  lifted  her  eyes 
desperately  to  her  uncle's  face.  "  She  said," 
she  repeated,  "  that  he  could  not  leave  home 
because"  —  her  voice  rose  hysterically  —  "be 
cause  '  a  couple  of  folks  that  couldn't  wait 
dropped  in,'-and  that  a  jewelry  store  was  'a 
precarious  business,  anyhow.'  " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  admiral,  starting  to 
his  feet.  "A property  broker — a  jewelry  store  ! 
But  that  can  only  mean  pawnbroking  !  it  can't 
be,  Marion." 

"  It  is,  uncle.  The  'properties'  were  jewelry. 
The  mother  seemed  unconscious  that  she  had 
betrayed  a  secret,  but  the  daughter  was  deep 
ly  embarrassed.  She  tried  to  pass  it  all  off, 
but — oh,  it  was  horrible  ! — she  only  made  the 
truth  plainer." 

"A  pawnbroker  !  And  you  tell  me  that  his 
son  has  dared  ask  my  niece  to  marry  him  ?" 

"  No,  uncle,  no ;  pray  listen  to  me.  You  your 
self  could  not  have  been  more  careful  than  Mr. 
Arnold  has  been  of  his  honor." 

The  admiral  paced  the  room,  his  eyes  flash- 
140 


CONCEALED   WEAPONS 

ing.  His  face  was  on  fire  ;  his  hands  were  al 
ternately  tugging  at  his  white  mustache  and 
ruffling  his  thick  white  hair. 

"His  honor  !  What  the  devil  do  I  care  about 
his  honor  when  my  niece  is  in  question  ?  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  dear ;  I  spoke  in  heat,  but,  in 
deed,  with  provocation.  A  pawnbroker  !  Good 
heavens !" 

"  But,  uncle,  Mr.  Arnold  has  never  asked  me 
to  marry  him.  When  he  joined  me  again,  we 
left  his  mother  and  sister,  and  he  and  I  walked 
on  together.  He  knew  nothing  of  what  had 
passed,  but  I  was  foolish  and  shaken,  and  had 
to  rest  on  a  bench  finally.  I  said  it  was  the 
heat.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  little  hysterical,  for 
I  startled  him,  and  he  had  let  me  know  that 
he  cared  for  me  before  he  realized  what  he 
was  saying.  Afterwards  he  was  as  dismayed 
as  you  are  now.  Indeed,  you  must  not  blame 
him.  He  was  terribly  agitated,  and  asked  noth 
ing  of  me  except  that  I  would  forget  all  that 
he  had  no  right  to  say  until  he  could  speak  to 
you.  He  is  coming  to  you  to-night.  Uncle, 
what  shall  you  say  to  him  ?" 

The  admiral's  walk  ceased  abruptly.  "  Say 
to  him  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Poor  boy,  what  can 
one  say  ?  If  it  were  anything  else  on  earth  !" 

Marion  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  You  pity  him,"  she  cried,  sharply ;  "  you 
only  pity  him  ;  but  I — I — "  She  laid  her  arm 
on  the  side  of  the  couch  and  bowed  her  head 
141 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

into  it.  The  admiral  paused  before  her.  For  a 
moment  his  hands  hovered  irresolutely  above 
her  shaken  shoulders ;  then,  throwing  his  palms 
outward  with  a  gesture  of  helplessness,  he 
straightened  himself  and  walked  away  to  the 
window.  His  back  was  still  towards  the  room 
when  he  spoke  : 

"  My  child — "  He  cleared  his  throat  and 
began  again  — "  My  child,  we  must  take  the 
world  as  we  find  it,  not  as  we  would  like  to 
make  it.  Mr.  Arnold  loves  you,  and  if  you  love 
him,  the  question  is,  What  can  I  do  to  comfort 
you  ?  What  can  I  say  to  him  that  is  not  too 
cruel  ?" 

Facing  his  niece  again,  the  admiral  went  on  : 
"  You  see,  I  am  perilously  near  being  woman 
ish  when  I  promised  you  to  be  only  womanly." 

As  Marion  raised  her  face,  he  seated  himself 
on  the  couch  near  her,  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
his  head  bent  towards  her.  Though  not  touch 
ing  her,  his  manner  had  tenderness  sufficient. 

"  If  it  were  any  other  occupation,"  he  re 
flected,  aloud ;  "  if  it  were  anything  less  gro 
tesque  and  absurd,  less  the  subject  of  ghastly 
pleasantries — " 

"You  can  remind  me  of  nothing  that  I  have 
not  already  considered,  uncle.  It  was  the  hide 
ous  absurdity  of  it  all  which  made  me  ill  out  in 
the  grounds.  As  I  thought  of  it  suddenly  from 
that  stand-point,  I  burst  into  hysterical  laughter 
and  tears.  That  was  the  beginning  of  my  weak- 
142 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

ness  and  Mr.  Arnold's  self -betrayal.  Oh,  uncle, 
you  don't  think  he  ever  helped  his  father,  do 
you?  I  keep  imagining  him  as  a  little  boy  do 
ing  the  little  things — making  out  the  tickets, 
and  arranging  the  shop-window.  Do  you  think 
I  should  ever  grow  used  to  those  associations, 
ever  be  happy  in  mingling  with  his  family  ?" 

The  admiral  started,  and  sat  very  erect  upon 
the  couch. 

"  Marion,"  he  said,  "  does  this  mean  that  you 
are  seriously  considering  such  a  step  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle.  As  I  told  you  at  first, 
I  seem  to  have  lost  the  power  of  thinking." 

"  My  dear  child,  if  you  have  come  to  me  to 
think  for  you,  I  can  only  repeat  your  own  words 
to  you,  and  repeat  them  with  most  solemn  be 
lief.  Nothing  on  earth  could  be  more  unwise 
for  you.  It  is  an  impossible  position." 

"  Yet  you  said  the  service  was  a  cloak  for 
many  such  sins  of  birth.  Other  officers  have 
come  from  the  people.  This  would  be  our 
world,  and  it  has  seemed  to  me  not  over  nice 
in  such  matters." 

"  You  have  not  been  here  long  enough  to 
see  what  underlies  the  veneer  of  official  civil 
ity.  Some  things  might  be  forgiven  or  con 
cealed,  but  poor  Arnold's  disability  is  as  a  bar- 
sinister  that  admits  of  neither.  Your  taking 
such  a  step  is  not  to  be  considered.  It  means 
misery  from  the  first.  You,  who  are  dainti 
ness  itself,  and  who  have  been  protected  from 
143 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

every  wind  that  blows,  can  have  no  conception 
of  the  coarseness  that  you  would  have  to  en 
dure  daily.  You  could  not  stand  it.  Your 
every  effort  would  be  to  wean  your  husband 
from  his  natural  ties  of  affection,  and  from  the 
hour  you  succeeded  you  would  despise  him. 
No,  my  dear ;  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  If 
the  utter  sacrifice  of  yourself  is  not  a  sufficient 
reason  to  restrain  you,  remember  your  mother, 
and  the  blow  it  would  be  to  her  hopes  for 
you." 

Marion's  face  hardened.  "Mamma!  Her  hopes 
for  me  will  be  blasted  at  anything  far  short  of 
a  coronet.  She  has  not  yet  forgiven  me  that 
I  am  not  the  wife  of  a  possible  heir  to  one,  with 
a  sot  for  a  husband." 

"  In  that  matter  you  had  my  warm  support, 
Marion." 

"  I  know  I  did,  uncle.  You  have  always  been 
kind  to  me.  Of  course  mamma  would  violent 
ly  oppose  Mr.  Arnold ;  and  do  you  know,  I  am 
ashamed  that  it  is  so,  but  the  thought  of  the 
struggle  with  her  nerves  me  when  I  might 
otherwise  falter — why,  I  don't  know." 

The  admiral  drew  back  a  little,  scanning 
Marion's  flushed  face.  Her  features  were  ex 
ceedingly  delicate ;  the  force  with  which  she 
had  spoken  had  not  brought  out  a  coarse 
line. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "do  you  mean  that? 
If  your  love  alone  does  not  nerve  you  to  con- 
144 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

sider  this  step,  nothing  else  should — least  of  all 
a  mother's  opposition." 

"  Mamma's  opposition  would  not  be  for  love 
of  me.  Mamma  ought  to  have  been  born  a  Ce 
lestial.  As  it  is,  I  should  have  been  piously 
sacrificed  on -her  ancestral  altar  but  for  you, 
uncle,  and  what  she  still  terms  my  wilfulness." 

"I  know,"  said  the  admiral.  "And  yet  this 
would  break  her  heart,  Marion.  It  cannot  be, 
my  dear,  both  for  her  sake  and  for  yours.  It 
is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

He  spoke  gently,  and  the  words  were  not 
commanding.  It  was  a  certain  finality  in  his 
voice,  born  of  long  and  undisputed  authority, 
that  his  niece  answered  with  spirit. 

"I  think  I  shall  decide  to  break  mamma's 
altars,  at  which  I  do  not  worship,  rather  than 
my  own  heart." 

The  admiral  looked  up  quickly.  Their  eyes 
met.  He  spoke  shortly,  almost  sternly. 

"You  have  decided,  Marion?" 

"  I  am  deciding  now." 

She  sat  with  her  finger  pressed  against  her 
lips,  her  face  grave,  and  her  eyes  downcast. 

The  admiral  rose  to  pace  the  floor,  quarter 
deck  fashion,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast. 
His  favorite  cat,  uncoiling  herself  from  a  warm 
corner  near  the  fire,  ran  to  rub  her  head  against 
his  leg,  as  was  her  wont.  Until  her  sharp  wail 
roused  him  the  admiral  did  not  know  that  he 
had  crushed  her  tail  beneath  his  foot ;  even 

K  145 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

then,  with  an  absent-minded  "  Excuse  me,"  he 
passed  on,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts.  Marion 
was  wondering  if,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  her  pres 
ence  was  forgotten,  when  the  admiral's  walk 
ceased,  and  he  seated  himself  at  his  table,  where 
she  had  first  found  him.  He  spoke  without 
looking  up,  his  fingers  occupied  with  a  bunch 
of  keys  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket 

"Marion,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  thinking 
that,  while  a  man  attains  his  majority  at  a  given 
period,  as  a  rule,  a  woman  comes  of  age,  early  or 
late,  with  her  first  heart-burn.  You  know  it  is 
a  time-honored  custom  that  a  son  of  the  house 
should  be  introduced  to  the  ghost  or  the  skel 
eton  of  the  family  the  day  he  comes  of  age. 
The  rule  might  as  well  apply  to  a  daughter.  I 
mean  now  to  show  you  our  family  ghost ;  but 
first,  can  you  tell  me  the  special  line  on  which 
we  hang  our  family  pride  ?" 

"The  Eeliott  line,"  Marion  answered, "spell 
ed  with  two  e's  and  two  t's." 

Her  voice  was  mocking,  and  the  admiral 
smiled.  He  had  selected  a  key  from  the  bunch. 

"  You  know  your  lesson  well,"  he  said,  dryly. 
"The  name  might  as  well  be  spelled  with  three 
e's  and  three  /'s,  while  we  are  about  it.  It  is 
the  skeleton  of  the  Eeliott  family  that  you  are 
to  see.  I  keep  it  locked  in  this  cupboard  with 
this  key." 

He  unlocked  the  door  of  a  closed  compart 
ment  under  his  table,  and  drew  out  a  long  box 
146 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

of  curious  and  irregular  shape,  covered  with 
dull  red  leather,  on  which  were  stamped  quaint 
arabesque  figures  in  burnished  gold.  The  odor 
of  age  about  the  case  was  strong.  Marion  drew 
back  as  the  admiral  laid  it  in  her  lap. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  only 
a  paper  ghost.  Open  the  box,  Marion." 

The  inner-case  lining,  of  heavy,  gorgeously 
tinted  silk,  decorated  with  a  sprawling  pome 
granate  pattern,  protected  a  roll  of  parchment 
as  yellow  as  ivory.  Attached  to  the  roll  by 
mixed  red  and  silver  ribbons  were  two  red 
seals.  Marion  touched  the  faded  ribbons  soft 
ly  with  her  finger  tips. 

"  The  Eeliott  colors,"  she  said.  The  admiral 
tossed  them  to  one  side  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated  ;  "  the  Eeliott  colors. 
Unroll  the  paper." 

As  she  lifted  and  unrolled  the  parchment 
Marion  uttered  an  exclamation.  The  page 
shone  out  with  all  the  glory  that  emblazoning 
gives  in  colors  as  fresh  as  the  day  they  were 
painted.  The  text,  broken  here  and  there  by 
rich  initials,  was  crowned  with  the  royal  arms 
of  England,  the  rose,  and  the  royal  ermine. 
On  a  corner  of  the  skin,  surrounded  by  festoon 
ed  roses,  hung  the  painted  shield  of  the  Eeliott 
family.  Marion  looked  at  the  shield  critically. 

"Those  are  surely  the  Eeliott  arms,"  she 
said;  "and  yet  isn't  there  something  a  little 
wrong  about  it  ?" 

147 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"A  little,"  said  the  admiral.  "Read  the 
writing,  my  dear — read  it  aloud." 

Marion  read  the  text  from  the  top  of  the 
gorgeous  page  to  the  written  signatures  at  the 
end : 

To  all  and  singular 

to  whom  these  Presents  shall  come  Isaac  Heard  Esquire  Gar 
ter  Principal  King  of  Arms  and  Thomas  Lock  Esquire  Clar- 
enceux  King  of  Arms  of  the  South  East  and  West  Parts  of 
England  from  the  River  Trent  Southwards  send  Greeting. 
Whereas  Marion  Eeliott  wife  of  the  Honorable  Francis  Her 
bert,  by  Letter  to  the  Most  Honorable  C D com 
monly  called  Earl  of  A Deputy  with  the  Royal  Appro 
bation  to  his  Father  the  Most  Noble  A D Duke  of 

C Earl  Marshall  and  hereditary  marshall  of  England  re 
quested  the  Favor  of  his  Lordship's  Warrant  for  an  exem 
plifying  and  confirming  to  her  and  her  Descendants  the  Arms 
of  her  reputed  Father  John  Eeliott,  Lord  Knight  of  the  King 
dom  of  Ireland  deceased  with  such  Variations  as  may  be  nec 
essary  according  to  the  Laws  of  Arms. 

And  forasmuch  as  his  Lordship  did  by  Warrant  under  his 
Hand  and  Seal  bearing  date  the  tsventieth  day  of  March  last 
authorize  and  direct  Us  to  exemplify  and  confirm  the  said  Arms 
accordingly.  Kno-M  Ye  therefore  that  We  the  said  Garter  and 
Clarenceux  in  pursuance  of  the  Consent  of  the  said  Deputy 
Earl  Marshall  and  by  Virtue  of  the  Letters  Patent  of  our  sev 
eral  Offices  to  each  of  Us  respectively  granted  under  the 
Great  Seal  of  Great  Britain  do  by  these  Presents  exemplify 
and  confirm  to  the  said  Marion  Eeliott  the  arms  following 
that  is  to  say  Paly  of  six  argent  and  gules  a  Bend  Sinister 
engrailed  counter-changed,  as  the  same  are  in  the  Margin 
hereof  more  plainly  depicted  to  be  borne  and  used  for  ever 
hereafter  by  her  the  said  Marion  Eeliott  and  her  Descendants 
according  to  the  Laws  of  Arms  without  the  Let  or  Interrup 
tion  of  any  Person  or  Persons  whatsoever. 
148 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

In  Witness  whereof  We  the  said  Garter  and  Clarenceux  Kings 
of  Arms  have  to  these  Presents  subscribed  our  Names  and 
affixed  the  Seals  of  our  several  Offices  the  sixth  day  of  April 

in  the  twenty year  of  the  Reign  of  our  Sovereign  Lord 

George  the  Third  by  the  Grace  of  God  King  of  Great  Brit 
ain  France  and  Ireland  Defender  of  the  Faith  &c  :  and  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  One  Thousand  and  seven  hundred 
and 

The  skin  rolled  itself  together  strongly,  as 
though  it  still  had  life,  as  Marion  laid  it  down. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  said.  "I  don't 
understand  a  word  of  it." 

"Your  great -grandmother,  Marion  Eeliott, 
understood  it,"  said  the  admiral.  "  She  under 
stood  it  so  well  that  she  kept  this  locked  in  her 
closet  to  the  day  of  her  death,  where  I,  as  ex 
ecutor,  found  it.  Why  she  did  not  burn  the 
document  is  one  of  those  things  which  are  in 
explicable.  That  no  one  in  her  lifetime  saw 
it  save  herself,  I  am  almost  positive.  Since 
then  I  know  that  my  eyes  alone  have  seen  it, 
and  now  yours." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  Marion  repeated. 

The  admiral  bent  forward  to  open  the  roll. 
He  read  a  line  aloud  : 

" '  The  arms  of  her  reputed  father!  Reputed 
father !  Don't  you  know  what  that  means, 
Marion?  Your  great-grandmother,  known  as 
Marion  Eeliott,  had  no  such  maiden  name,  and 
her  crest  might  as  well  have  been  a  bar-sinister 
couchant,  or  three  balls  rampant,  or  anything 
149 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

else  she  chose  to  carry.  You  surely  know  the 
meaning  of  a  bar  -  sinister,  my  dear.  We  are 
not  a  mushroom  family  in  the  maternal  line, 
but  toadstool — old  enough,  in  all  conscience, 
and  poison  at  the  root." 

Marion  drew  the  parchment  towards  her,  look 
ing  again  at  the  emblazoned  shield  with  its  fa 
tal  lines  from  left  to  right.  The  color  rose  in 
her  face. 

"  Do  you  mean,  uncle,  that  we  are  not — not 
legitimate?" 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  niece,  that  on  our  grand 
mother  Eeliott's  side  we  are  not  low-born,  but 
base-born.  That  high  name  on  which  we  hang 
our  chiefest  pride  is  our  shame.  That  Lord 
Eeliott  was  the  father  of  our  ancestress  is  un 
doubted  ;  who  her  mother  was,  the  Lord,  or 
more  likely  the  devil,  only  knows.  Would  you 
care  to  hear  the  whole  story,  Marion,  or  does 
this  kind  of  truth  shock  you  ?  I  thought  you 
rather  scornful  of  ancestry." 

"This  is  different,  uncle.  I  thought  we  were 
at  least  of  honest  blood.  I  want  to  know  all 
that  you  can  tell  me ;  but — no,  I  don't  like  it ; 
it  does  shock  me." 

"This  story,"  said  the  admiral,  "has  also 
a  kind  of  humor  about  it,  almost  as  grim  as 
the  story  of  Mr.  Arnold's  order  of  bar-sinister. 
Your  namesake  and  maternal  ancestress  did 
not  like  it,  either.  She  was  brought  up  in  her 
father's  American  home  as  his  daughter,  pre- 
150 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

siding  over  his  household,  and  arrogantly  foist 
ed  upon  the  community,  who  accepted  her  for 
their  own  reasons,  I  suppose.  Probably  .they 
were  ignorant  of  her  true  position.  When  I 
found  this  document  hidden  away  in  the  old 
lady's  closet,  among  her  silks  and  laces,  I  was 
sufficiently  stirred  to  look  up  every  scrap  of 
writing  bearing  on  the  subject.  Among  a  heap 
of  old  letters  belonging  to  Lord  Eeliott,  I  un 
earthed  one  from  his  father,  written  in  Eng 
land,  and  rather  sardonically  urging  his  son  to 
sow  all  his  wild  oats  on  this  side  of  the  water, 
that  the  crop  might  not  come  up  in  the  old 
country.  Our  ancestress  was  one  of  those 
blades.  How  many  others  there  were  of  Lord 
Eeliott's  crop,  who  knows?  Before  leaving 
America  Lord  Eeliott  married  his  daughter  to 
your  great-grandfather,  with  a  bribe  thrown 
in  of  so  many  thousand  pounds  down.  That, 
too,  I  read  between  the  lines  of  the  papers  I 
ran  through.  Ancestors  are  not  unlike  sleep 
ing  dogs,  Marion.  It  is  better  to  let  them  lie, 
as  a  rule.  If  the  first  Marion  Eeliott  had  been 
wise  enough  to  do  so,  she  would  have  been 
spared  the  mortification  of  this  parchment. 
You  have  seen  her  portrait,  my  dear?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  cannot  imagine  her  humbled. 
Uncle,  are  you  sure  that  all  this  is  true?" 

"  You  have  the  parchment  before  you.  I 
have  to  look  at  it  to  convince  myself  some 
times,  after  listening  to  your  mother's  talk  of 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

our  family  history  on  the  Eeliott  side.  Old 
Marion  Eeliott  grew  to  think  it  could  not  be 
true,. and  that  humility  and  the  pit  whence  it 
came  were  not  for  such  as  she.  Others  had 
forgotten,  and  she  would  forget.  After  her 
father's  death  she  evidently  conceived  the  idea 
of  quartering  his  arms  with  her  husband's. 
She  must  have  written  to  England,  to  the  Her 
alds'  College,  claiming  them.  Heaven  knows 
what  influences  and  what  money  she  brought 
to  bear.  That  the  college  is  incorruptible  is 
well  shown  here.  What  do  you  suppose  were 
her  feelings  as  the  covered  parchment  un 
rolled  ?  Her  reputed  father,  and  a  bend  sinister. 
Do  you  think  she  saw  the  grim  humor  of  it, 
Marion  ?" 

Marion  was  looking  seriously  at  the  parch 
ment. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  uncle.  To  me  it  is  only  shame 
ful.  And  so  this  is  what  mamma  has  been  wor 
shipping  all  these  years.  Why  did  you  never 
tell  her?" 

"Why  should  I  overthrow  her  altars?  Up 
to  this  time  there  has  been  no  reason  for  doing 
so.  And  so  you  see  no  humor  in  the  story? 
Well,  perhaps  Mr.  Arnold  may,  as  we  recognize 
humor  in  his.  Here,  my  dear ;  you  have  my 
permission  to  use  this  parchment  as  you  choose. 
It  is  your  weapon,  and  with  it  you  are  well 
armed  for  your  battle  with  your  mother." 

He  rolled  the  parchment  as  he  spoke,  and 
152 


CONCEALED  WEAPONS 

returning  it  to  its  box,  laid  the  case  in  Marion's 
hands.  She  received  it  mechanically,  looking 
up  surprised. 

"  I — what  am  I  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Marry  Mr.  Arnold,  if  that  is  what  you  real 
ly  desire.  Why  not,  now  that  you  know  the 
truth  about  yourself?  Before  you  opened  that 
case  you  had  a  certain  family  tradition  to  live 
up  to;  now  you  are  freed.  If  you  care  for 
Mr.  Arnold  enough  to  forgive  his  three  balls 
rampant,  and  submit  your  bar-sinister  couch- 
ant  for  his  forgiveness,  I  don't  see  that  any  one 
can  interfere.  If  your  mother  opposes  you  too 
strongly,  you  have  only  to  lay  this  before  her 
to  seal  her  lips." 

Marion  lifted  her  eyes  searchingly  to  the  ad 
miral's  face. 

"  Uncle,"  she  asked,  "  why  have  you  done 
this?" 

The  admiral  winced  slightly.  "Why,  my 
dear?"  he  replied.  He  rose  and  laid  his  hand 
on  Marion's  head,  meeting  her  earnest  gaze. 
"  Why  ?  Because  I  want  you  to  realize  that 
it  is  wholly  in  your  power  to  marry  Mr.  Arnold 
or  not,  just  as  you  desire.  If  he  were  not  a 
gentleman  by  nature,  I  would  not  have  run 
this  risk.  He  is  a  gentleman,  if  to  be  one  is  to 
know  what  is  due  to  others  and  to  render  it, 
to  know  what  is  due  to  himself  and  to  expect 
it.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  parents  can  do 
nothing  if  their  child  chooses  to  marry  the 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

hangman  or  the  man  to  be  hanged.  As  for 
you,  Marion,  if  you  wish  to  marry  Mr.  Ar 
nold,  what  renders  it  possible  lies  there  in  your 
hands.  Take  it  away  with  you,  my  dear,  and 
make  your  own  use  of  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  case,  which 
still  lay  loosely  in  his  niece's  grasp. 

Without  a  word,  Marion  lifted  her  eyes,  for 
a  moment  looking  full  into  his.  There  was  no 
wavering  on  either  side.  With  a  quick  gesture 
she  caught  up  the  box  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
by  her  uncle's  hand ;  yet  the  movement  was 
curiously  deliberate.  She  did  not  look  up  at 
the  admiral  as  she  passed  him  on  her  way  from 
the  room. 

The  admiral  sat  motionless  at  his  desk,  the 
case  before  him,  and  his  favorite  cat  climbing 
up  to  his  knee.  As  the  door  closed  he  slowly 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  drew  a  deep  breath, 
and  wiped  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  'Twas  as  I  thought,"  he  muttered :  "  oppo 
sition  was  her  buoy.  A  shred  of  it  left  her  to 
cling  to,  she'd  have  plunged  in  headlong." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  cat's  furry  head, 
more  as  if  gaining  comfort  from  the  touch  than 
bestowing  it.  There  was  a  kind  of  shame  in 
his  fine  old  face. 

"And  I  promised  her  to  be  womanly  !"  he 
said,  aloud.   "  I  was  feline  !    Pussy,  I  crave  your 
pardon.     You  at  least  show  your  weapons  in 
the  moment  of  scratching,  don't  you  ?" 
154 


ANNIE    TOUSEY'S    LITTLE    GAME 

ONCE  when  I  was  a  little  girl  visiting  my 
grandfather,  his  barn  on  the  hill-side  caught 
fire,  and  I  was  the  first  one  who  thought  of  the 
danger  to  my  grandfather's  beloved  carriage. 
I  can  see  it  now,  hideous,  lumbering  old  vehi 
cle  that  it  was.  I  rushed  to  the  barn,  tore  open 
the  great  doors,  grasped  the  shafts  of  the  car 
riage,  and  started  down  the  hill.  For  the  first 
ten  feet  I  ran  the  carriage  ;  from  there  to  the 
bottom  of  the  hill  the  carriage  ran  me.  I  have 
never  forgotten  the  sensation.  When  my  grand 
father  died  and  the  farm  fell  to  Penneniah  and 
me,  the  carriage  episode  repeated  itself.  For 
some  weeks  we  ran  the  farm  ;  from  then  the 
farm  ran  us,  until  the  bottom  of  the  hill  and 
ruin  stared  us  in  the  face. 

It  was  all  Uncle  Elijah's  fault ;  at  least,  Pen 
neniah  and  I  so  felt  it  to  be.  He  knew,  and 
we  knew,  and  all  the  neighborhood  knew,  that 
grandfather  had  not  intended  leaving  us  the 
farm  and  no  money  with  which  to  keep  it  in 
order.  During  the  last  weeks  of  his  illness  a 
stock  company  that  every  one  had  believed  in 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

failed  suddenly.  When  the  will  was  read  our 
portion  proved  to  be  the  old  home  farm  and  a 
number  of  valueless  stocks  in  the  ruined  com 
pany.  Everything  else  went  to  Uncle  Elijah, 
who  already  owned  a  large  farm,  which  grand 
father  had  given  him  on  his  marriage,  years 
before.  All  the  neighborhood  thought  Uncle 
Elijah  would  make  up  the  value  of  the  useless 
stocks  to  his  dead  brother's  children.  Pen- 
neniah  thought  he  would,  and  Joseph,  Uncle 
Elijah's  step-son,  was  sure  of  it.  I  said  nothing, 
for  I  was  sure  of  the  contrary,  and  I  was  right. 
The  only  move  Uncle  Elijah  made  in  the  mat 
ter  was  to  send  us  a  written  offer  of  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  for  the  farm.  Pen  sat  looking  at 
the  letter  in  dismay.  As  the  elder  sister  by 
fifteen  years,  she  opened  our  joint  letters. 

"  Annie  Tousey,"  she  said — she  always  gave 
me  the  benefit  of  my  full  name  — "  Annie 
Tousey,  Uncle  Elijah  must  know  that  the  farm 
is  worth  fifteen  thousand  if  it  is  worth  a 
penny." 

I  was  feeling  very  guilty. 

"  Penny,"  I  said,  "  I  must  confess  something 
to  you.  I  have  done  a  stupid  thing.  I  should 
have  known  better.  The  day  that  the  will  was 
read  Uncle  Elijah  asked  me  if  we  should  sell 
the  farm,  and  I  said,  '  Knowing  how  grandfa 
ther  loved  it,  I  should  feel  it  dishonest  to  sell 
to  any  one  outside  of  the  family.'  Now,  you 
see,  Uncle  Elijah  is  the  only  living  relation  we 
156 


ANNIE  TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

have.  There  is  no  one  to  bid  against  him  that 
we  would  accept,  and  he  knows  it.  Penny,  I 
was  very  stupid,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  it." 

"  You  needn't  feel  so  badly,"  said  my  sister, 
"  for  he  asked  me  the  same  question  and  got 
the  same  answer.  But  even  if  he  did  buy  the 
farm,  he  has  no  one  to  leave  it  to  but  Joseph, 
and  that  would  be  leaving  it  out  of  the  family, 
unless,  Annie  Tousey — " 

"  He's  not  going  to  buy  it  at  ten  thousand 
dollars,"  I  interrupted.  "  We  will  write  to  him 
that  we  hold  the  farm  at  fifteen  thousand,  and 
see  what  he  does  then." 

But  we  did  not  see  ;  for  Uncle  Elijah  did 
nothing,  not  even  replying  to  our  letter.  Yet 
we  knew  he  received  it,  for  Joseph  told  us  so. 
Penneniah  and  I  talked  the  situation  over,  and 
finally,  in  the  face  of  advice  from  all  the  neigh 
borhood,  decided  to  try  making  the  farm  sup 
port  us,  with  itself,  aided  by  a  small  yearly  in 
come  which  our  father  had  left  us.  The  result 
was  as  I  have  narrated.  We  and  the  farm  ran 
steadily  downhill.  It  was  long  before  Penne 
niah  and  I  would  fully  acknowledge  to  each 
other  that  our  experiment  was  a  failure,  and 
I  don't  know  how  long  this  reserve  would  have 
held  if  it  had  not  been  rudely  broken. 

Open  speech  between  us  came  about  in  this 
way  :  We  were  preparing  to  go  into  town  and 
make  some  purchases  for  the  farm  (we  pur 
chased  for  nothing  else  by  that  time),  when 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Penneniah  came  into  my  room  half  dressed, 
with  one  shoe  on  her  foot  and  one  in  her  hand. 
She  said,  "Annie  Tousey,  look  at  this  slit  in 
my  shoe." 

"  Is  it  on  the  outside  or  the  inside  ?"  I  asked. 
"  If  it  is  on  the  outside,  wear  your  left  boot  on 
your  right  foot,  and  vice  versa.  I  managed  my 
last  pair  in  that  way." 

"  I  thought  of  that,  but  they  are  not  reversi 
ble." 

"  Then  wear  them  as  they  are,  and  when  we 
get  into  town  we  will  buy  a  new  pair,"  I  said, 
desperately. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  where  the  money's  to  come 
from,  Annie  Tousey.  We  must  buy  chicken 
feed  to-day.  The  hens  have  almost  stopped 
laying.  I  won't  buy  a  pair  of  shoes  until  they 
begin  again." 

Penneniah's  facts  were  undeniable.  I  exam 
ined  the  shoe  carefully.  "  Penny,"  I  said,"  snip 
off  those  ravellings  sticking  out  of  the  slit,  and 
black  the  white  lining.  Then,  if  you  wear  a 
black  stocking,  perhaps  the  hole  won't  show." 

Penny  listened,  and  followed  my  suggestions. 
By  the  aid  of  several  like  manoeuvres  we  real 
ly  looked  so  nice  that  after  our  business  in 
town  was  completed  I  proposed  a  visit  to  the 
neighborhood  of  fashion,  where  lived  a  connec 
tion  of  ours  known  to  Penneniah  and  myself 
as  the  "  Favored  of  Fortune." 

"  We  had  better  go  now,  Pen,"  I  said ;  "  we 
158 


ANNIE  TOUSEY'S  LITTLE   GAME 

may  never  have  another  chance.  Dear  knows 
what  we  may  look  like  the  next  time  we  come 
to  town  !" 

Pen  dislikes  remarks  of  that  kind.  She  pre 
fers  to  ignore  ignoble  particulars,  even  in  the 
bosom  of  the  family  ;  but  she  saw  the  force  of 
my  argument,  and  assented.  Just  opposite  the 
home  of  the  Favored  of  Fortune  lies  a  little 
park.  As  we  crossed  its  stone  pavement  I 
heard  an  exclamation  of  horror  from  Pen.  I 
turned  to  see  her  extended  finger  pointing  to 
the  ground. 

"  That,"  she  said,  in  a  tragic  whisper — "  that 
is  toe." 

I  looked.  There  it  was,  undeniably.  It  had 
punched  a  way  through  the  black  stocking, 
and  was  poking  out  from  her  black  shoe  like 
a  little  white  terrapin  head.  Its  expression 
was  so  funny  that  I  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  laughed  until  the  tears  rained  down  my 
face.  A  sense  of  the  ridiculous  is  the  little 
hobby-horse  that  has  carried  me  safely  over 
many  a  muddy  road,  but  Penneniah  will  rarely 
mount  him  behind  me. 

"  Annie  Tousey,"  she  said,  severely,  "  it  is  not 
your  toe,  or  you  wouldn't  laugh." 

I  disagreed  with  her,  but  it  was  not  the  time 
to  say  so. 

"  Pen,"  I  said,  "  you  will  have  to  ask  the 
Favored  of  Fortune  to  lend  you  a  pair  of 
shoes." 

159 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  I  will  walk  home  barefoot  first,"  returned 
Pen. 

And  I  knew  she  would ;  she's  just  that  proud. 

"  Pen,"  I  said,  "  what  makes  you  so  proud  ? 
I  believe  the  marrow  in  your  bones  would  stand 
up  alone.  If  you  won't  ask  help  you  will  have 
to  sit  down  on  this  bench  and  turn  your  stock 
ing  wrong  side  out.  That  will  throw  the  hole 
on  the  other  side." 

"  And  have  the  police  speak  to  me  !  Annie 
Tousey,  have  you  lost  your  mind  ?" 

"  He  won't  see  you.  I  will  hold  my  skirts 
before  you.  You'll  have  to  choose  between  him 
and  the  Favored  of  Fortune,  Pen." 

She  chose  the  former. 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  am  going  now?"  she 
said,  when  the  performance  was  safely  over. 
"  I  am  going  straight  out  into  the  country  and 
offer  the  farm  to  Uncle  Elijah  for  thirteen 
thousand  dollars." 

"Agreed,"  I  answered,  and  we  went  forth 
with.  Daniel,  our  black  factotum,  was  waiting 
for  us  with  our  carriage  (that  same  that  ran 
me).  Daniel  was  a  legacy  from  our  grandfa 
ther  along  with  the  farm.  Penneniah  reposed 
an  absolute  confidence  in  him  and  his  experi 
ence.  Mine  had  received  some  shocks. 

"  To  Uncle  Elijah's,  Daniel,"  said  Penne 
niah,  with  unnecessary  decision,  as  we  entered 
the  carriage.  When  we  reached  our  uncle's 
home,  Joseph  came  out  of  the  house  to  receive 
1 60 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE   GAME 

us.  His  mother  had  died  years  before,  not  long 
after  her  marriage  to  our  Uncle  Elijah,  and 
Joseph  lived  alone  with  his  step-father.  Uncle 
Elijah  had  not  much  patience  with  Joseph, 
who  openly  believed  in  theoretical  farming, 
and  wore  gloves. 

Uncle  Elijah's  creed  was  that  a  man  should 
advertise  his  profession  by  trade-marks  upon 
his  person. 

"  When  I  buy  a  horse,"  he  would  say,  "  I  look 
at  his  teeth;  with  a  farmer,  I  look  at  his  hands." 

Joseph's  white  hands  were  as  thorns  in  his 
step-father's  side. 

"  Father  is  on  the  back  porch,"  said  Joseph. 
"  He's  buying  eggs  of  a  man.  Did  you  ever 
see  father  buy  eggs  ?  You'd  better  take  a  les 
son.  It's  a  kind  of  retroactive  thing.  The  man 
sells  the  eggs,  and  father  sells  the  man." 

We  found  Uncle  Elijah  on  the  back  porch 
with  a  basket  of  eggs  before  him.  A  wooden 
ring  was  in  his  hand.  Any  egg  which  would  go 
through  the  ring  he  rejected  ;  only  the  eggs 
which  stuck  came  up  to  his  standard  for  buy 
ing.  Uncle  Elijah  nodded  to  us,  and  went  on 
with  his  purchasing. 

"  Penneniah,"  I  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  ask 
him  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  for  the 
farm,  not  thirteen  thousand." 

"Annie  Tousey,"  Penneniah  replied,  in  the 
same  tone,  "  you  said  on  the  way  out  that  you 
wouldn't  come  down  a  single  penny." 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

"  I  hadn't  seen  that  ring  then,"  I  answered. 
"  Pen,  I  really  think  you'd  better  say  twelve 
thousand." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered  ;  and  when  Uncle 
Elijah  was  ready  to  give  us  his  attention,  that 
was  the  offer  Pen  made  him.  Uncle  Elijah  had 
one  habit  of  awful  fascination  to  me.  Whenever 
he  talked  on  business  matters  he  remodelled 
his  features  with  his  fingers,  one  after  the 
other,  in  a  kind  of  innocent,  pensive  way,  not 
to  his  personal  advantage. 

He  remodelled  his  nose  and  lips  on  this  occa 
sion,  but  not  his  heart.  He  would  only  repeat 
his  offer  of  ten  thousand,  which  Pen  refused  as 
absolutely. 

The  interview  was  short,  and  conducted  on 
my  sister's  side  with  some  asperity,  which  Un 
cle  Elijah  met  with  forbearance  as  aggravat 
ing  as  it  was  unyielding.  On  these  terms  we 
parted. 

"  Penny,"  I  said,  when  we  reached  home, 
"  what  on  earth  are  we  to  do  ?  Of  course  we 
can't  sell  the  farm  outside  of  the  family,  as 
Uncle  Elijah  knows  too  weli,  but  how  are  we 
to  keep,  not  rings,  but  gloves  on  our  fingers 
and  shoes  on  our  toe — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  refer  to  that  again, 
Annie  Tousey,"  said  Pen,  with  dignity. 

"  Very  well,"  I  answered,  "  I  won't ;  but  we 
must  have  some  ready  money  or  starve  our 
selves — and  the  live-stock  too,  which  is  worse. 
162 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

Suppose  we  reduce  the  live-stock,  Penneniah  ? 
We  might  sell  off  half  of  what  we  have  and 
feed  the  rest  on  the  proceeds.  We'll  see  what 
Joseph  thinks  of  it." 

Joseph  happened  in  the  next  day,  and  not 
only  thought  well  of  it,  but  offered  to  be  auc 
tioneer  for  us,  so  Pen  and  I  decided  to  have  a 
sale. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  to  sell,  you  see,"  said 
Pen.  "We  don't  want  all  these  farming  im 
plements  ;  we  have  about  forty  head  of  cattle, 
plenty  of  ducks  and  chickens,  and,  above  all, 
the  Berkshire  pig,  with  her  nine  young  ones." 

Now  this  pig  and  her  young  ones  were  the 
pride  of  Pen's  heart.  I  believe  she  prized 
their  pedigree  more  than  her  own.  Theirs 
certainly  was  the  longer,  but  it  came  more 
trippingly  from  her  tongue.  As  the  day  of 
sale  drew  near,  Pen  visited  the  sty  daily,  lavish 
ing  every  attention  on  the  inmates.  She  ex 
pected  to  realize  more  from  them  than  from 
anything  else.  Alas  !  it  was  not  to  be. 

One  morning  my  sister  rushed  into  the  house 
with  the  announcement  that  there  were  but 
six  little  Berkshires  in  the  sty. 

"  In  my  opinion,"  said  Penneniah,  "  the  fox 
has  taken  them.  It  might  be  possible." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  not  a  mink  ?"  I  asked, 
satirically. 

Earlier  in  the  year,  Pen,  assisted  by  Daniel, 
had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a 
163 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

mink  which  nightly  entered  the  chicken-house 
to  steal  the  chickens  bodily.  She  persisted  in 
this  belief  in  Daniel  and  the  mink,  even  when 
faced  by  an  old  almanac  found  in  the  garret 
which  defined  a  mink  as  "  a  small  animal  of  the 
weasel  species,  that  sucks  the  blood  of  its  vic 
tim  and  leaves  the  carcass."  No  carcasses 
were  left  in  our  hen-house. 

But  the  present  fact  to  face  now  was  that  by 
some  agent  the  little  pigs  were  gone  also,  and 
the  next  day  three  of  their  brethren  followed 
them.  Pen  and  I  stood  by  the  sty  looking  sad 
ly  at  the  three  remaining  relics. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  fox,"  said  Pen. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  foolish  ?"  I  replied.  "If 
it  is  a  fox  it  is  a  two-legged  one  named  Daniel. 
The  little  pigs  have  gone  the  way  of  the  chick 
ens.  Do  you  really  suppose,  Pen,  that  the  old 
pig  would  let  a  fox  walk  off  with  her  young 
ones  ?  She  has  teeth,  too,  hasn't  she  ?" 

Alas !  she  had.  Pen,  poking  about  in  the 
straw  with  the  point  of  her  parasol,  found  an 
unexpected  answer  to  my  question.  The  mur 
der  was  out.  Daniel  was  vindicated,  but  the 
cherished  Berkshire  was  a  cannibal.  Under  the 
straw  lay  the  half-eaten  scraps  of  her  children. 
Pen  was  made  ill  by  this  discovery,  and  not 
only  from  a  moral  point  of  view. 

"  She  ain'  no  mo'  use  as  a  breeder,  Miss  Pen," 
said  Daniel.     "After   they  wonst  tas'es  peeg, 
they's  a-goin'  t'eat  'em  ev'ry  time." 
164 


ANNIE  TOUSEY'S   LITTLE   GAME 

I  remembered  having  heard  something  of  the 
same  sort  told  by  missionaries,  and  began  to 
say  so,  when  Pen  begged  me  to  stop. 

"I  suppose  it's  only  one  of  Daniel's  lies," 
I  said,  encouragingly.  "  You  remember  the 
mink — " 

"  It  might  be  possible,"  Pen  interrupted  ;  and 
when  Joseph  came  to  talk  over  the  inventory 
he  said  it  was  not  only  possible,  but  certain. 

"  Then  it  would  be  dishonest  not  to  mention 
the  fact  at  the  sale,"  said  Pen,  sadly. 

"  No  farmer  would  buy  her  if  you  did,"  said 
Joseph. 

"  It  must  be  mentioned,"  replied  Pen,  with 
the  air  of  a  Roman  father. 

I  followed  Joseph  into  the  hall  when  he  left. 
"  Look  here,"  I  said  ;  "  about  that  pig.  So  you 
mention  the  fact  of  the  eating,  it  won't  matter 
how  you  express  it,  I  suppose.  If  you  say  that 
part  of  the  litter  were  killed  in  the  last  snap, 
would  that  do  ?" 

Joseph  looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at  Joseph. 
The  corners  of  his  mouth  approached  his  ears. 
"  Yes,  Annie,"  he  said,  "  that  will  do  somebody," 
and  we  parted  with  a  mutual  understanding. 
Pen  is  honest  always.  I  am  as  honest  as  the 
times  permit. 

The  morning  of  the  sale  came  at  last,  and 

was  like  a  nightmare.     The  live-stock  would 

not  be  collected  ;  and  when  they  finally  were, 

they  would  not  stay  where  we  put  them.    First 

165 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

the  chickens  got  out.  Those  for  sale  had  been 
locked  in  the  hen-house  the  night  before.  In 
the  morning  Pen  gave  the  key  to  Daniel's  boy, 
with  repeated  instructions  to  "  feed  the  chick 
ens  in  the  hen-house."  Half  an  hour  later  Pen 
opened  the  trap -door  of  the  hen-house  and 
peeped  in  curiously. 

"  Hen,  hen,  hen,"  she  called.  Pen  would  never 
say  "Chicky,  chick."  She  thought  it  vulgar. 
But  it  made  little  difference,  for  there  was  not 
a  chicken  present  in  the  hen-house. 

"  'Deed,  Miss  Penneniah,  you  done  tol'  me 
ter  feed  de  chickens  what  ware  in  de  hen-house, 
an'  I  let  urn  out  an'  fed  um,"  said  Daniel's  own 
son.  "  I  'ain'  done  nothin'  but  what  you 
said." 

Pen  admitted  that  "  it  might  be  possible," 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  morning  the  little  darky 
had  the  delightful  and  previously  forbidden 
occupation  of  chasing  chickens. 

For  the  ducks,  every  one  supposed  the  other 
had  locked  them  up  the  night  before.  "  I  seen 
um  dis  mornin',"  said  Daniel's  son.  "A-head- 
in"  up  de  stream  dey  was.  Dey's  got  a  feedin'- 
groun*  'way  up  de  country  yander.  'Tain'  no 
kin'  of  use  lookin'  fur  um." 

To  crown  these  discoveries  came  another. 
An  Alderney  calf,  aged  twenty-four  hours,  was 
missing,  and  the  mother  was  lowing  wildly  in 
the  stable. 

"  Hit  sartinly  was  shet  up  las'  night  wid  de 
1 66 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S   LITTLE   GAME 

res',''  asserted  Daniel;  "jes  as  shore  as  you 
live,  ladies,  de  bull  eat  it." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  replied  Pen, 
tentatively;  "did  you,  Annie  Tousey  ?" 

Daniel  took  serious  umbrage  at  my  reply. 

"Excuse  me,  miss.  I  don'  like  to  contradic' 
you,  madam,  but  indeed,  miss,  I  hev  known 
bulls  what  eat  calfs." 

"  It  might  be  possible,"  said  Pen,  and  Daniel 
looked  at  me  reproachfully,  supported  by  her 
faith  ;  "  and  if  he  has,"  Pen  went  on,  "  he  will 
be  as  useless  as  the  Berkshire,  I  suppose." 

"  Daniel,"  I  said,  "  if  you  are  too  lazy  to  hunt 
the  calf  yourself,  let  that  poor  cow  out  of  the 
stable,  and  she'll  find  it  fast  enough.  It  was 
no  more  locked  up  last  night  than  the  ducks 
were." 

Daniel  departed,  swelling  with  injury. 

"  Pen,"  I  said,  "  how  can  you  be  such  a  fool  ? 
I  wouldn't  trust  Daniel  tied  with  a  string. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  bull  eating  a  calf  ?" 

"  Annie  Tousey,  you  know  nothing  about  it. 
If  a  pig  eats  her  young,  it  might  be  possible  to 
a  bull.  You  hurt  Daniel's  feelings  just  now." 

A  little  later  Daniel  appeared  in  the  door 
way.  He  was  rolling  a  bit  of  straw  about  in 
his  lips  sheepishly.  He  generally  carried  a 
sample  of  the  crop  in  season  in  his  mouth. 

"  De  calf  done  foun',  Miss  Penneniah,"  he 
said  ;  "  hit's  ma  went  right  to  it.  Hit  ware  out 
in  de  parsture,  jes  as  snug  under  de  bushes 
167 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

where  she  done  hid  it  las'  night.  How  come  I 
ter  furgit  it  is  'cos  I  bin  combin'  my  hade  at 
nights  here  lately.  They  say  ef  you  combs  yer 
hade  at  nights,  you  fergits.  That's  what's  got 
to  me." 

''Well,"  I  said,  "  you  were  very  careless,  Dan 
iel,  but  I  am  thankful  the  calf  is  found  and 
safe." 

"  'Tain't  safe,"  said  Daniel,  solemnly.  "  Hit's 
done  foun'  dade." 

With  all  my  dismay,  this  was  too  much.  The 
sublimity  of  our  misfortunes  rose  to  the  ridic 
ulous,  and  I  laughed  until  Pen  became  really 
angry. 

I  will  not  dwell  longer  on  the  confusions  of 
that  morning.  Despite  the  ill  luck  which  seem 
ed  to  pursue  us,  we  had  everything  fairly  in 
order  when  Joseph  arrived,  and,  passing  all  over 
into  his  hands,  Pen  and  I  retired  to  the  house, 
where  we  awaited  results  impatiently. 

When  the  sale  was  over,  and  most  of  the 
people  gone,  Joseph  came  in  to  tell  us  that  he 
really  thought  he  had  done  rather  well  for  us. 
"All  the  farming  implements  you  wanted  to 
sell  are  gone,"  he  said  ;  "  but,  best  of  all,  the 
greater  part  of  the  live-stock  has  been  bought 
in  by  one  man,  named  Smith." 

Pen  bounded  from  her  chair. 

"  Frank  Smith  !"  she  cried.  "  Did  he  pay 
cash  ?  If  not,  he  mustn't  have  one  of  them." 

Joseph  said  the  man  gave  his  note,  and 
168 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

added  that  he  thought  "a  bird  in  the  hand 
was  worth  two  in  the  bush." 

"  In  the  case  of  Smith,  his  note  represents 
the  bush  birds,"  I  replied.  "Joseph,  you  can't 
mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  that  Smith  has 
no  credit  in  the  county  ?  Well,  I  see  why  you 
irritate  your  poor  father." 

I  really  had  reason  to  feel  troubled  ;  for, 
with  Smith  refused  a3  a  purchaser,  when  the 
ducks  came  back  at  nightfall,  there  was  almost 
as  much  live-stock  cackling  and  quacking  and 
lowing  about  us  as  there  had  been  before  the 
sale. 

That  night  Pen  and  I  sat  again  looking  at 
each  other  despairingly. 

"  Pen,"  I  said,  at  last,  "  this  is  a  crisis.  We 
have  been  working  the  farm  together  ;  now  I 
suggest  that  you  take  what  small  proceeds 
there  are  from  the  sale,  wear  my  shoes  into 
town  to-morrow"  (she  had  been  wearing  rub 
bers  over  hers  to  hide  the  hole),  "  buy  yourself 
a  pair  of  shoes,  and  the  things  we  must  have 
to  live,  while  I  stay  here  trying  to  think  out  a 
plan." 

Pen  consented,  and  went  into  town  the  next 
day.  All  that  morning  I  sat  thinking,  and  all 
that  afternoon  I  still  thought,  seeing  before 
me  more  and  more  plainly  but  one  hateful 
conclusion — to  sell  the  farm  to  Uncle  Elijah 
for  two-thirds  of  its  value ;  yet  by  the  time  Pen 
came  home  the  problem  was  solved  otherwise. 
169 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Well,  Annie  Tousey,"  she  said,  "  has  any 
thought  come  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  It  didn't  come  until  late 
in  the  afternoon,  Penny,  when  I  was  sitting 
alone  on  the  front  porch  ;  then  it  opened  the 
gate  and  walked  up  the  path,  with  a  bucket  of 
paint  in  each  hand.  Now,  Penneniah,  before 
I  tell  you  anything  I  want  to  make  a  bargain 
with  you.  You  know  we  decided  that  working 
together  we  had  made  a  failure.  I  want  you 
to  promise  me  that  you  will  not  interfere  with 
any  of  my  decisions  about  the  farm  for  a 
month.  Then  if  I  have  not  succeeded  I  will 
turn  the  farm  over  to  you,  and  you  can  do 
what  you  like  for  a  month.  If  we  both  fail  we 
will  hand  it  over  to  Uncle  Elijah  for  his  ten 
thousand  dollars.  Will  you  agree  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  my  sister  ;   "that  seems  fair." 

"  No  interference  for  a  month,  mind,  no  mat 
ter  what  I  do.  Do  you  promise  that  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Pen,  and  I  knew  she  would 
keep  her  word — that's  Penneniah.  Then  I  said  : 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  By  noon 
to-morrow  the  roof  of  this  house  will  be  crying 
out  in  large  letters,  white  upon  a  red  ground, 
'  Use  Camphorated  Compound  Cramp  Cure.' 
As  we  are  on  a  hill  and  near  the  railroad,  hun 
dreds  of  people  will  have  read  it  before  night 
fall,  and  we  shall  have  one  hundred  dollars  in 
our  pockets." 

Penny  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair.  She 
170 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE   GAME 

did  not  speak ;  but  it  would  have  been  a  waste 
of  breath — her  face  was  enough. 

"  I  am  glad  you  remember  your  promise,"  I 
said,  quickly.  "  I  was  afraid  for  a  moment  that 
you  were  going  to  forget  it.  The  man  came 
up  the  path  to  say  that  if  I  would  let  him  paint 
his  advertisement  on  the  roof  of  the  barn  he 
would  pay  me  twenty-five  dollars.  I  told  him 
no — of  course  not.  He  was  going  away,  when 
a  thought  struck  me,  and  I  called  him  back. 

"  'What  would  you  pay  me,'  I  said,  '  if  I  let 
you  paint  it  on  the  roof  of  the  house?'  He 
looked  from  one  roof  to  the  other,  and  said,  as 
they  were  of  about  equal  size,  he  would  pay 
the  same.  '  No,  you  won't,'  I  told  him.  '  You 
know  you  never  advertised  on  the  roof  of  a 
handsome  stone  house  before.  You  will  pay 
me  three  times  as  much  as  for  the  barn,  or 
none  at  all.'  I  wished  I  had  asked  him  more  ; 
for  he  grabbed  at  it,  and  the  bargain  is  closed 
— twenty-five  dollars  for  the  barn  and  seventy- 
five  for  the  house — one  hundred  dollars  in  all, 
where  we  had  nothing." 

Penneniah  burst  into  tears.  "As  I  promised, 
of  course  I  can  say  nothing,"  she  sobbed,  "  but 
I  shall  never  forgive  you,  Annie  Tousey  — 
never." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  feel  so  badly  about 
it,"  I  said.  "  It  seems  to  me  best — conscien 
tiously  best,  Pen.  But,  you  know,  I  am  to  have 
but  thirty  days  as  my  share  of  the  manage- 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

ment,  and  so  I  only  rented  the  roofs  for  that 
term.  Then  you  can  have  them  painted  over 
if  you  desire." 

"The  first  day,"  sobbed  Pen — "the  very  first 
day  of  my  term." 

"  It  may  be  possible  to  paint  them  over 
before  then,"  I  said.  "  Something  may  hap 
pen." 

But  as  Pen  would  not  be  comforted,  and  as 
I  was  not  moved  sufficiently  to  withdraw  from 
my  decision,  our  relations  became  a  little 
strained.  In  fact,  I  had  to  stand  quite  alone 
in  the  matter.  The  next  day,  when  the  white 
letters  glared  out  on  the  red  roof,  and  all  the 
neighbors  checked  their  teams  at  the  gate  to 
stare  and  laugh,  Pen  shut  every  window-blind, 
and  would  not  cross  the  door-sill. 

"  I  said  I  will  not  interfere,  and  I  will  not," 
she  said,  "  but  I  feel  exactly  as  if  a  demon  were 
sitting  on  the  roof." 

Even  Joseph  saw  fit  to  remonstrate  with  me 
on  the  subject. 

"Annie,"  he  said,  "upon  my  word,  I  don't 
wonder  Pen  feels  badly.  I  can't  think  what 
you're  doing  this  for.  It's  not  worth  it." 

"  Joseph,"  I  replied,  "  I  advise  you  to  go  home 
and  pull  your  thinkers  up  by  the  roots  and 
plant  them  again.  That's  what  I  did  the  day 
Penny  went  into  town.  They  got  a  new  start 
that  way.  What  does  Uncle  Elijah  say  ?" 

"  He's  pretty  angry,  Annie.  And,  to  tell  the 
172 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

truth,  I  don't  blame  him  for  it — or  Penneniah 
either." 

This  was  the  first  day.  The  second  day 
Joseph  came  again  to  tell  me  that  his  step 
father  had  been  to  see  his  lawyer. 

"  He  came  home  more  outraged  than  ever," 
Joseph  said,  gravely.  Then  he  began  to  laugh. 
"  By -the -way,  Annie,  last  night,  after  I  went 
home,  I  did  what  you  told  me  to.  I  pulled  up 
my  thinkers  by  the  roots  .and  planted  them 
again.  They  are  growing  very  fast  now." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Penny,  wiping 
her  eyes.  She  had  been  wiping  one  eye  or  the 
other  ever  since  the  "  Compound  Cure "  had 
brooded  over  our  roof. 

"  Nothing  important,"  Joseph  answered.  "All 
the  neighbors  called  on  father  to-day,  Annie — 
casually,  you  know,  just  to  pass  the  weather. 
You  girls  and  the  roof  were  mentioned  by  each 
one  incidentally."  He  began  to  laugh  again. 

"Joseph,"  I  said,  sharply,  "you  had  better 
not  aggravate  your  father  by  coming  to  see  us 
just  now." 

Joseph  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "  He'll  be 
here  himself  before  long.  You  see  if  he  isn't. 
You  had  better  be  mixing  your  war-paint  and 
collecting  your  feathers,  Annie." 

With  this  warning  he  left  me. 

"  I  can't  think  what  ailed  Joseph,"  said  Pen, 
when  he  had  gone.  "  He  is  usually  so  consid 
erate  and  sympathetic.  He  must  have  seen 
173 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

I  was  in  trouble  to-day,  yet  he  kept  bursting 
out  laughing  in  the  oddest  way  at  nothing  at 
all.  It  was  not  like  Joseph.  Do  you  think 
Uncle  Elijah  is  really  coming  here,  Annie  Tou- 
sey  ?" 

On  the  third  day  of  the  reign  of  the  "  Com 
pound  Cure"  on  our  roof  Pen's  question  was 
answered  by  Uncle  Elijah  himself.  Joseph  was 
the  first  to  see  him,  from  the  window,  coming 
up  the  path  to  the  house  door. 

"  Annie,"  said  Joseph,  "  are  you  ready  ?  He's 
here." 

Both  Penneniah  and  I  knew  whom  he  meant. 
Penny  was  sewing,  and  as  she  dropped  her 
work  and  her  hands  together  on  the  table  by 
which  she  was  sitting,  her  thimble  positively 
rattled  with  apprehension. 

"Joseph,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  want  Uncle  Elijah 
to  find  you  here.  You  have  just  time  to  slip 
out  of  the  back  door." 

Joseph  shook  his  head  emphatically.  "  When 
I  have  been  hanging  about  here  for  three  days 
to  see  this  !  No,  indeed,  Annie  ;  you  can't 
make  me  go." 

"  Stay,  Joseph,"  pleaded  Pen  ;  "  I  should  feel 
safer.  Annie,  let  him  hide  in  the  closet.  Do, 
Joseph." 

"  I  will  if  I  may  have  the  door  on  a  crack," 

said  Joseph.     And  to  this  I  had  to  consent,  for 

Uncle  Elijah  was  already  knocking  at  the  front 

door.     I  went  to  let  him  in  myself,  and  when 

174 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

I  brought  him  back  to  our  sitting-room  with 
me  only  Pen  was  to  be  seen,  sewing  at  the  table 
with  stitches  which  had  all  to  be  picked  out 
afterwards  ;  but  the  closet  door  was  ajar. 

"  Penneniah,"  said  Uncle  Elijah,  deliberate 
ly,  as  he  entered — he  had  ignored  me,  save  for 
a  brief  greeting  in  the  hall — "  Penneniah,"  he 
repeated,  standing  accusingly  before  her,  "  I 
have  come  to  speak  to  you  regarding  the  in 
decent  way  you  are  treating  the  home  of  your 
grandfather  and  your  own  father.  Both  would 
turn  in  their  graves — " 

"  No,  Uncle  Elijah,"  I  interrupted — Pen  was 
already  dissolved  in  tears — "  Penny  didn't  do 
it ;  I  did." 

Uncle  Elijah  turned  to  me.  "You,  Annie 
Tousey?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  Penny  is  the  elder,  of 
course,  but  you  know  how  we  keep  our  word 
when  we  once  give  it,  and  she  has  promised 
me  that  I  shall  run  the  farm,  and  that  she  will 
not  interfere  with  anything  I  choose  to  do." 

"  Only  for  thirty — "  Pen  began  to  sob. 

"  Penny,"  I  cried,  "  hold  your  tongue  !  You 
agreed  not  to  say  one  word.  Now  keep  your 
promise." 

And  my  sister  bowed  her  face  into  the  white 
work  she  had  been  sewing. 

"  Uncle   Elijah,"  I  said,  "  if  you  have  any 
thing  to  say,  please  say  it  to  me.     I  am  in 
charge.     Won't  you  take  a  chair  ?" 
175 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Uncle  Elijah  looked  from  the  seat  I  offered 
to  me,  and  then  back  again  to  the  chair,  into 
which  he  finally  sank.  I  sat  opposite  him,  and 
we  looked  silently  at  each  other,  until  he  had 
to  begin. 

"Annie  Tousey,"  he  said,  "when  you  first 
told  me  that  you  would  not  sell  the  farm  out 
of  the  family,  I  supposed  you  had  some  feeling 
for  the  old  place." 

"  So  I  had,  Uncle  Elijah,"  I  answered,  "and 
so  I  have.  That's  why  I  rented  the  roof  out 
to  the  'Compound  Cure'  rather  than  sell  it." 

My  uncle  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and 
drew  out  his  check-book. 

"  Now,  Annie,"  he  said,  "  it's  not  worth  while 
for  me  to  tell  you  that  this  is  a  great  personal 
inconvenience  to  me,  nor  to  enter  into  a  talk 
on  values.  You  have  one  mind  as  to  the  price 
of  this  farm,  I  another.  I  have  offered  you 
ten  thousand  dollars  down  for  the  property  ; 
you  have  offered  it  to  me  for  twelve  thousand. 
I  came  over  this  afternoon  prepared  to  make 
a  compromise.  Get  me  pen  and  ink.  I  will 
write  you  out  a  check  for  eleven  thousand, 
which  will  split  the  difference." 

He  laid  his  check  -  book  on  the  table  and 
opened  it. 

"  Uncle  Elijah,"  I  said,  without  moving,  "  I 
am  very  sorry  you  feel  it  so  about  the  '  Com 
pound  Cure.'  I  had  tried  everything  else  to 
make  the  farm  pay  before  I  came  to  that.  And 
176 


ANNIE   TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

I  am  sorry,  too,  that  I  must  refuse  your  eleven 
thousand  dollars ;  but  I  am  in  charge  of  affairs, 
and  I  wouldn't  feel  it  just  to  Penneniah." 

Penny  took  her  head  out  of  her  work  to  open 
her  mouth,  but  I  frowned  it  shut  again. 

"  I  must  absolutely  refuse,  Uncle  Elijah,"  I 
said. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  answered  ;  "  if  you  are 
so  obstinate  over  one  thousand  dollars,  Annie 
Tousey,  I  will  yield  it." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  found  pen  and 
ink  for  himself,  and  brought  them  back  to  the 
table  with  him. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Uncle  Elijah  ?" 
I  said,  as  he  drew  the  check-book  towards  him. 
Uncle  Elijah  looked  up  at  me  and  began  to 
remodel  his  features. 

"  I  accept  your  offer,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  it 
is  a  large  sum  to  pay  out,  Annie  Tousey." 

"  What  is  a  large  sum  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Twelve  thousand  dollars." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  can't  sell  the  farm  at  twelve  thousand, 
Uncle  Elijah.  I  can't  conscientiously  do  that." 

Uncle  Elijah  laid  down  the  pen  and  stared 
at  me. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Annie  Tousey  ?  That 
was  your  own  offer.  Penneni — " 

"  No,  Uncle  Elijah,"  I  said.  "  Pen  has  prom 
ised  to  leave  all  this  to  me,  and  you  know  she 
will.  We  did  offer  you  the  farm  at  twelve 

M  177 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

thousand,  but  that  was  before  we — or  rather 
I  —  had  developed  this  advertising  industry. 
We  can  afford  to  hold  the  farm  now,  and  I 
mean  to  hold  it  at  its  full  value — fifteen  thou 
sand  dollars." 

Uncle  Elijah  closed  his  check-book  with  a 
snap,  which  his  eyes  and  mouth  seemed  to 
imitate. 

"  Then  you  can  hold  it,"  he  said  ;  "  but  un 
derstand,  Annie  Tousey,  no  matter  what  straits 
and  what  disgrace  you  run  yourself  and  Pen- 
neniah  into,  don't  look  to  me  for  anything,  for 
I  wash  my  hands  of  you." 

"  We  won't  get  into  any  straits,  Uncle  Eli 
jah,"  I  answered,  firmly.  "  I  see  plain  sailing 
ahead  of  me.  I  have  thought  out  ever  so  many 
plans  for  developing  an  advertising  industry. 
Our  being  near  the  railroad  and  on  a  hill  is  a 
great  deal  in  our  favor.  I  have  decided  to  run 
a  flagstaff  up  the  side  of  every  chimney  we 
have,  and  rent  out  the  flags.  Of  course  wood 
en  scantlings  set  up  in  the  fields  are  nothing 
new,  but  that  will  yield  something.  I  have  a 
crowning  plan  of  setting  a  scantling  on  the 
top  of  the  house  as  high  as  it  is  safe.  We  live 
on  a  hill,  but  we  don't  have  heavy  winds.  I 
mean  to  create  here  an  advertising  farm  that 
people  will  come  from  far  and  near  to  see.  I 
shall  ask  fancy  prices  for  the  advertisements, 
and  I  shall  be  inventing  original  and  startling 
methods  all  the  time." 

178 


ANNIE  TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

Uncle  Elijah  lay  back  in  his  chair  staring  at 
me.  I  did  not  dare  to  look  in  Pen's  direction. 

"Annie  Tousey,"  said  Uncle  Elijah,  "do  you 
actually  mean  to  do  this  disgraceful  thing  on 
the  old  home-place  ?" 

"  Uncle  Elijah,"  I  answered,  solemnly,  "  I 
pledge  you  my  honor  I  mean  every  word  of 
it.  I  am  sick  of  spending  every  penny  we  get 
on  the  farm.  Now  the  farm  has  got  to  do 
something  for  us.  If  you  can  think  of  any  bet 
ter  paying  plan,  short  of  selling  the  farm  out 
of  the  family  or  selling  it  for  less  than  fifteen 
thousand  dollars,  I  should  be  delighted  to  hear 
of  it.  Otherwise  this  advertising  industry  will 
go  on.  I  can  see  no  help  for  it." 

My  uncle  forgot  to  mould  his  features  ;  he 
forgot  to  dip  his  pen  in  the  ink  until  he  found 
it  would  not  write  in  his  check-book. 

"  Here,  Annie  Tousey,"  he  said,  tearing  out 
the  check  he  drew  up,  and  laying  it  loose  on 
the  table  before  me,  "  do  you  go  and  have  a 
deed  of  this  farm  made  to  me.  Of  all  the  dis 
graceful  things  I  ever  heard,  this  is  the  most 
disgraceful.  Get  me  the  deed,  I  say,  and  two 
witnesses." 

I  looked  at  the  check.  It  was  for  fifteen 
thousand  dollars. 

"Annie  Tousey,"  said  my  Uncle  Elijah,  as  I 

took  the  check  and  he  rose  to  go,  "  I  will  do 

you  the  justice  to  say  that  I  believe  you  do 

not  realize  what  you  have  done.     As  a  woman, 

179 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

you  cannot  understand  how  it  appears,  but  if 
you  were  a  man,  Annie  Tousey,  I  should  say, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  that  you  had 
deliberately  played  a  very  close  and — a — very 
doubtful  game.  Annie  Tousey — " 

What  my  uncle  saw  written  on  my  face  I  am 
sure  I  do  not  know.  I  opened  my  reticule 
quickly,  and  shut  his  check  inside.  When  I 
looked  up  again  my  uncle  was  vigorously  mod 
elling  his  features,  and  watching  me  so  curi 
ously  that  I  was  glad  to  glance  at  Penneniah. 
Pen  was  also  looking  at  me,  with  an  expression 
of  doubtful  awe.  At  that  point  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  heard  a  distinct  and  suppressed 
chuckle.  I  glanced  at  the  cupboard  door  anx 
iously,  but  the  sound  did  not  come  from  that 
direction.  As  it  was  repeated,  I  turned  invol 
untarily  towards  Uncle  Elijah.  He  was  no 
longer  modelling  his  features,  but  they  wore 
an  expression  quite  new  to  me. 

"  Annie  Tousey,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  you  ought 
to  have  been  a  man " ;  and  when  he  said  that 
I  knew  that  he  felt  himself  paying  me  the 
highest  compliment  in  his  power,  and  also  that 
in  pocketing  my  uncle's  check  I  had  pocketed 
his  respect. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Uncle  Elijah — "  I  began, 
but  he  stopped  me. 

"  No,  you  ain't,  Annie  Tousey.  You  needn't 
think  I  bear  you  a  grudge,  though,  for  I  don't. 
Lord,  it's  a  pity  you  ain't  a  man.  It  makes 
1 80 


ANNIE  TOUSEY'S  LITTLE  GAME 

me  sick  when  I  see  what  ought  to  be  a  man 
having  to  walk  about  this  world  in  woman's 
skirts,  but  it  makes  me  sicker  to  see  what 
ought  to  be  a  woman  in  man's  trousers.  Now 
there's  my  wife's  Joseph —  By-the-way,  Annie 
Tousey,  I  have  thought — " 

The  closet-door  creaked,  and  I  broke  in  : 
"  Never  mind  about  Joseph,  Uncle  Elijah.  I 
am  glad  you  don't  feel  hardly  towards  me,  and 
we  can  move  away  in  a  week,  if  that  will  suit 
you." 

Uncle  Elijah  held  out  his  hand.  There  was 
a  curious  smile  on  his  face. 

"  It  was  a  close  deal,  Annie  Tousey,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  as  a  deal  it  was  square,  and  I  can't  com 
plain.  I'll  tell  you  what,  though,  I'd  rather 
have  you  on  my  side  than  on  the  other.  You 
needn't  think  of  leaving  this  farm  for  very 
long.  I  look  at  it  this  way  :  It  takes  two 
halves  to  make  a  whole,  but  you  can  make  it 
out  of  three  quarters  and  Joseph.  He —  Well, 
I  wouldn't  take  away  the  big  pieces  of  furni 
ture,  Annie  Tousey." 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

"  IT  isn't  as  if  I  cared  for  any  one  else.  I 
think  you  know  that.  It's  only  that  I — " 

"  That  you  don't  care  for  me." 

"  You  put  words  into  my  mouth.  I  had  not 
meant  to  say  exactly  that — still,  if  you  prefer 
it  should  stand  so — " 

"  I  do,  if  you  are  thinking  of  our  long  row 
home,  and  so  are  tempering  the  wind  for  my 
shearing.  Won't  you  speak  with  brutal  frank 
ness  ?  When  a  woman  has  refused  a  man  di 
rectly  and  indirectly  as  often  as  you  have  me, 
he  may  suffer  each  time  a  gamut  of  emotions, 
but  really  he  ceases  to  be  embarrassed." 

The  woman  who  had  spoken  flushed  a  little. 

"  That  was  not  a  nice  speech.  I  have  al 
ways  been  honest  with  you." 

"  Yes,  but  never  quite  so  far  from  covert. 
If  I  were  not  I,  and  you  you,  the  prospect  ahead 
might  be  awkward  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  awk 
wardness  means  anguish  to  your  mind.  You 
are  a  symphony  of  social  accords.  I  have  never 
yet  made  a  discordant  scene,  I  think,  but  be 
ing  repeatedly  refused  with  such  unfailing  tact 
182 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

and  courtesy  is  having  its  effects  on  my  nerves. 
I  am  more  irritable  than  I  used  to  be.  It  would 
be  easier  if  you  were  rude  to  me." 

"  I  know  it."  The  answer  came  quickly. 
"  It  is  all  wrong  between  you  and  me.  May  I 
speak  very  plainly  ?"  . 

"  I  beg  that  you  will.  I  think  I  have  almost 
the  right  to  demand  it ;  and  you  can  speak 
the  naked  truth  and  still  be  artistic,  you  know. 
I  learned  that  early  in  my  art  career.  One 
day,  when  we  were  all  in  the  studio  painting, 
my  old  master  came  behind  me  and  leaned 
over  my  shoulder  to  find  that  I  had  boyishly 
draped  my  figure  in  a  floating  gauzy  veil.  '  Mr. 
Satterly,'  he  said, '  if  you  want  to  paint  draped 
figures,  paint  them,  and  if  you  want  to  paint 
nude  figures,  paint  nude  figures,  but  spare  me 
shimmerettes  !'  Won't  you  spare  me  shimmer- 
ettes  to-day,  Annette  ?" 

Satterly  looked  up,  smiling,  and  his  compan 
ion  laughed,  but  she  was  still  uneasy,  as  her 
very  attitude  showed.  The  two  were  sitting 
together  in  a  deep  stony  hollow  formed  in  some 
wave -smitten  rocks,  which  were  at  once  the 
breakwater  and  rugged  bluff  of  a  small  island 
that  lay  green  with  its  pine-trees  in  the  midst 
of  a  deep  cove.  The  site  was  too  exposed  to 
winter  gales  for  verdure,  but  in  place  of  grass, 
nature,  fertile  in  expedients,  had  laid  down 
matted  pine-needles  season  after  season,  until 
the  net-work  underfoot  was  more  dense  than 
183 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

the  prickly  boughs  crossing  overhead.  Winds 
and  storms  had  filled  all  the  nooks  and  corners 
of  the  red  crags  with  this  fodder-like  pine,  mak 
ing  a  veritable  rookery  of  warm  nests  in  among 
the  rocks.  It  was  in  one  of  these  nests  that 
Annette  and  Satterly  were  sitting. 

"  I  and  my  shimmerettes  seem  to  offend  you 
to-day,"  said  Annette,  after  a  long  pause.  "  Do 
you  know  that  we  close  our  cottage  to-morrow  ? 
I  asked  you  early  in  the  summer  to  give  me 
quiet  freedom  while  I  stayed  here  to  think  it  all 
over,  and  I  meant  to  be  decided  when  these 
last  days  of  October  came.  I  have  tried  to  be 
so  all  along,  but  I  hoped  you  understood  why 
I  could  not  be  too  vehement  in  my  denials." 

There  was  a  genuine  sweetness  and  an  un 
usual  softness  in  her  tone  and  manner  that  one 
less  a  lover  would  have  found  hard  to  resist. 
Satterly  moved  to  lay  his  hand  closely  on  the 
hand  of  the  woman  he  loved,  with  a  quick 
touch  which  had  in  it  so  much  earnestness  and 
so  little  of  a  caress  that  she  did  not  withdraw 
from  him. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  if  I  am  soured  ;  in 
deed  it  is  not  your  fault.  However  this  talk 
between  us  ends — and  I  feel  that  there  are  to  be 
finalities  in  it — you  must  believe  that  I  acquit 
you  of  any  blame  whatever.  You  have  been 
most  exquisitely  patient,  womanly,  and  kind 
to  me  from  Alpha  to  Omega,  if  Omega  it  is  to 
be.  Now,  while  I  can  speak  calmly  and  with 
184 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

unbiased  truth,  I  want  you  to  write  it  in  the 
tablets  of  your  memory  that  I  told  you  this. 
Don't  you  let  anything — anything  that  I  may 
be  provoked  to  say  or  do  hereafter — make  you 
believe  that  I  really  think  differently." 

He  was  sitting  at  her  feet,  and  could  see,  as 
she  looked  down  at  him,  all  the  little  flecks  of 
warm  brown  in  her  eyes  that  on  near  view 
made  them  seem  hazel.  Her  lips  were  parted 
and  quivering  slightly.  To  Satterly  her  face 
perfectly  expressed  her  character  as  he  had 
learned  to  know  it.  Her  underlying  nature 
was  as  the  tendernesses  of  her  beauty — those 
brown  lights  of  the  eyes,  those  soft  curves  of 
the  lips — visible  only  when  studied  as  Satterly 
was  then  devoutly  studying  them.  She  turned 
a  little  from  his  fixed  gaze  on  her  face,  and 
looked  over  the  waters  at  the  low  wintry  sun 
hanging  red  above  the  red  rocks.  The  move 
ment  drew  her  hand  softly,  as  if  unintentional 
ly,  from  Satterly's  grasp.  He  fell  back  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Everything  you  do  is  characteristic  of  you. 
Here  you  have  let  me  sit  as  another  woman 
would  not  have  dared  trust  a  man  madly  in 
love  with  her,  but  you  know  exactly  to  a  math 
ematical  nicety  the  line  of  safety.  Did  you 
know  that  for  two  foolish  moments  just  now, 
because  a  squirrel  in  the  tree  made  you  start, 
and  again  because  the  sunlight  shifted  on  your 
face,  I  half  believed  that  your  fingers  caught 
185 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

mine,  or  that  your  expression  altered  ?  Was 
that  why  you  drew  your  hand  away?  No — 
pardon  me — another  woman  would  have  done 
that — you  only  let  it  melt  from  mine." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  frankly  ;  "  and  you  are 
thinking,  too,  that  my  horror  of  '  scenes,'  as 
you  call  them,  is  the  cause  of  whatever  is  wrong 
between  us.  No,  don't  stop  me.  Something 
is  wrong ;  but  my  real  inability  to  decide  and 
end  this  finally  one  way  or  the  other  has  been 
due  to  my  inexperience — " 

Satterly  laughed  outright.  "  Inexperience  ! 
In  what,  pray,  are  you  inexperienced — men  or 
manners  ?  Dear  one,  don't  be  troubled  to  find 
reasons.  You  don't  love  me — that's  all — and 
enough.  Why  should  you  ?  Because  I  can't  for 
get  you — things  stick  in  my  heart  as  in  a  dog's 
— is  no  reason  that  you  should  be  annoyed." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  willing  to  understand," 
she  said,  gently,  "  but  you  don't  quite  do  so 
yet.  I  mean  what  I  say  of  my  ignorance. 
Most  women  of  my  age — I  am  no  longer  an 
immature  girl — have  some  experiences  to  guide 
them,  but  I  have  never  really  cared  for  any 
man  in  my  life ;  and  as  a  woman  has  to  be  a 
little — well — susceptible  herself,  you  know,  to 
thoroughly  enjoy  playing  at  love,  I  have  never 
even  had  flirtations  to  teach  me.  I  have  come 
nearer  to  both  love  and  flirtation  with  you 
than  with  any  one  else."  She  paused,  as  if 
doubting  the  wisdom  of  such  plain  speech. 
186 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

"Go  on,"  he  answered  ;  "this  is  just  what  I 
wanted." 

"You  see  now  why  I  asked  you  for  these 
free  months.  I  have  had  nothing  by  which  to 
gauge  myself.  Other  men  have  loved  me. 
You  know  that,  so  there  is  no  harm  in  my  say 
ing  so.  I  have  been  ashamed  that  I  could  hear 
them  with  not  even  a  throb  of  answering  emo 
tion.  With  you  it  has  been  a  little  different. 
Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  I  did  care  for 
you  because  I  hate  to  make  you  suffer,  and  be 
cause  I  can  talk  to  you — well,  as  I  am  talking 
now.  But  neither  of  these  is  love.  I  want  to 
ask  you  an  odd  question.  How  did  you  know 
that  you  loved  me?"  She  flushed  under  his 
look  of  amusement,  but  did  not  explain  further. 

"  How  do  I  know  I  love  you  ?" 

"That  was  not  what  I  asked.  The  tense 
makes  all  the  difference.  I  said,  how  did  you 
know.  I  think  I  can  understand  diving  deeply 
after  plunging,  but  plunging  in,  it  is  quite  an 
other  matter." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "it  is.  I  have  often 
wondered  how  women  got  the  impulse  to  dive 
into  marriage,  lacking  the  stimulus  of  the 
chase." 

Annette  looked  her  assent. 

"You  understand  me  wonderfully  well.     It 

must  be  partly  your  artistic  temperament  that 

teaches  you  how  a  woman  feels.     You  could 

never  have  sent  me  a  Japanese   oak,  for  in- 

187 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

stance,  though  you  do  think  me  a  worldling.  I 
think  I  want  to  tell  you  about  my  Japanese 
oak,  and  how  I  almost  married  the  man  who 
gave  it  to  me.  It  was  a  long  while  ago.  I  was 
little  more  than  a  debutante  then,  but  I  thought 
it  high  time  I  married.  The  idea  of  never 
marrying  had  not  then  occurred  to  me."  She 
waited  again  for  Satterly  to  speak ;  but  he  was 
silent,  and  she  went  on  :  "I  was  never  real 
ly  engaged  to  the  man  I  decided  to  marry. 
Something  held  me  back  from  the  final  step ; 
but  he  had  reason  to  believe  it  would  soon 
come  to  that,  though  I  never  pretended  to  love 
him  at  all ;  and  his  first  gift  to  me,  a  young, 
sensitive  girl,  was — what  do  you  think  ? — a  mor 
bid  Old  World  plant — a  Japanese  oak  !  Did 
you  ever  see  one  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  They  look  like  weary,  wizened 
old  men — don't  they  ? — and  never  grow  larger 
than  a  little  bush." 

Annette  spoke  with  suppressed  feeling. 
"They  don't  grow  because  you  deny  them 
every  natural  condition.  You  keep  them  in 
a  pot  too  small  for  them,  with  cruelly  little 
water,  too  little  sun,  and  too  little  air.  They 
live  for  a  century,  and  cost,  I  forget  what,  but 
small  fortunes.  It  was  a  gift  I  was  very  proud 
of  for  a  day  or  so.  Then  I  began  to  hate  it,  and 
the  man  who  thought  I  could  be  hard  enough 
to  enjoy  it.  I  was,  as  he  had  reason  to  know, 
a  rather  cold  woman,  but  not  then,  or  now,  I 
188 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

hope,  a  hard  one.  I  set  the  poor  thing  in  a 
great  pot  of  earth,  and  put  it  in  a  south  win 
dow,  and  drowned  it  with  water,  and  flooded  it 
with  air.  Of  course  it  died.  When  I  broke  my 
engagement,  if  I  can  call  the  half-agreement 
such  a  name,  I  said  that  I  did  so  because  the 
oak  had  been  made  a  gift  to  me,  and  because 
that  proved  an  utter  lack  of  comprehension  of 
me.  But  that  was  not  my  whole  reason.  I  did 
not  tell  him  how  I  had  learned  to  realize  that 
if  I  married  without  love  I  should  grow,  or 
rather  stop  growing,  just  like  that  miserable, 
starved  little  tree.  He  had  unconsciously  given 
me  an  object-lesson,  you  see,  and  I  have  never 
forgotten  it.  Worldly,  as  you  and  he  —  yes, 
both  of  you — think  me,  the  ghost  of  that  oak 
has  again  and  again  stood  between  me  and  a 
loveless  marriage."  There  was  a  long  pause. 
Annette  broke  the  silence,  speaking  slowly,  as 
if  feeling  her  way  to  an  understanding  with 
herself  as  well  as  with  her  listener.  "  I  am  not 
a  cold  woman,  whatever  I  seem.  If  I  were,  I 
should  have  married  long  ago.  A  marriage  of 
love,  genuine,  tender  love,  is  what  I  call  beauti 
ful,  and  I  will  have  nothing  less  lovely.  But 
how  is  one  to  know?  How  am  I  to  know,  for 
instance,  that  you  can  give  me  the  sunshine, 
space,  and  free  air  of  a  love  -  marriage  ?  I 
know — all  this  is  hard  for  me  to  say — that  I 
shall  never  marry  any  one  if  I  do  not  engage 
myself  to  you  to-day,  for  I  can  never  again  ex- 
189 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

pect  to  meet  a  man  whose  comradeship  I  so 
enjoy  or  with  whom  I  feel  such  freedom,  and 
who — it  is  even  harder  to  say  than  I  thought — 
who  so  nearly  stirs  my  heart."  Satterly  looked 
up  quickly,  but  she  would  not  meet  his  eyes. 
She  had  to  steady  her  voice  to  go  on,  and  the 
words  came  more  firmly.  "  I  confess  I  shrink 
from  the  thought  of  parting  with  you  finally  ; 
yet,  I  do  not,  no,  I  do  not  feel  that  irresistible 
impulse  to  bind  myself  more  closely  to  you 
which,  I  suppose,  would  mean  that  I  really  loved 
you.  I  don't  know  how  better  to  test  my  heart, 
and  you  don't  help  me." 

She  ended  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath 
and  more  emotion  than  Satterly  had  ever  seen 
her  show.  He  replied  instantly. 

"  Frankly,  don't  you  think  you  are  rather  un 
reasonable?  How  am  I  to  test  your  heart  for 
you?  As  I  understand,  you  paraphrase  the  old 
agnostic's  prayer  :  '  O  Love,  if  you  be  my  Love, 
touch  my  heart,  if  I  have  a  heart.'  Perhaps 
you  don't  realize  that  you  are  asking  me  to 
teach  you  exactly  what  I  have  been  vainly 
striving  and  slaving  to  make  you  learn,  lo, 
these  many  moons.  What  more  can  I  do  ?  I 
do  melt  my  own  tested  heart  for  you  to  drink 
as  Cleopatra  did  her  pearl.  But  that  hasn't 
taught  you,  my  Princess — Princess  I-Would-I- 
Wot-Not." 

Annette's  face  changed.     She  looked  down 
with  a  quick  turn  of  her  head. 
190 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

"  Princess  I  -  Would  - 1  -  Wot  -  Not,"  she  re 
peated—  "  I-Would-I-Wot-Not."  She  recited 
the  title  over  and  over,  as  if  it  fascinated  her. 
"  Is  that  descriptive  of  me  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  it 
is.  How  discontented  and  fretful  and  peevish 
the  name  sounds  —  I  would  I  wot  not!"  She 
interrupted  Satterly's  murmured  protest.  "  I 
don't  mind  ;  it's  entirely  true.  But  don't  you 
know  that  I  would  give  the  world  to  wot  what 
I  do  want — to  know  my  heart  as  others  know 
theirs — as  you  do  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Satterly,  dryly,  "  there's  no  doubt 
whatever  about  my  knowing.  I  am  not  intro 
spective  enough  to  be  a  doubter.  I'm  simply 
an  old-fashioned  lover  on  one  knee  before  you 
offering  my  simple  heart  for  what  it  is  worth  as 
frankly  and  as  perpetually  as  an  old-fashioned 
valentine  picture.  I  have  known  unfortunate 
ly  well  just  what  I  wanted  —  not  ever  since  I 
first  met  you — I  am  not  practised  enough  to 
pretend  I  have  always  loved  you.  I  don't  think 
I  quite  liked  you  when  we  first  met,  did  I  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Annette,  laughing  ;  "  you  thought 
me  a  worldly  woman,  and  once  deliberately  told 
me  so.  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  had  to  com 
plain  of  what  you  call  '  shimmerettes '  with 
you." 

"  You  never  will,  I  hope.  The  first  time  it 
ever  occurred  to  me  to  love  you  was  when  we 
were  walking  one  day  under  a  grove  of  pine- 
trees  just  like  these,  and  the  ground  was  springy 
191 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

in  the  same  way  with  the  old  and  new  shed 
needles.  Do  you  remember  that  walk  ?  I  don't 
suppose  so,  but  I  was  as  I  thought  making  my 
self  agreeable  to  you,  and  talking  cynically  of 
what  money  could  do,  what  I  knew  my  own 
money  had  bought  me  of  the  world's  favor,  when 
you  stopped  short  and  dug  the  point  of  your 
parasol  into  the  mat  of  pine-needles.  '  Bah  ! 
You  haven't  the  money  that  would  buy  a  carpet 
like  this  !'  you  said,  scornfully,  and  you  could 
have  knocked  me  down  with  one  of  those  same 
needles.  I  looked  at  you,  and  then  somehow 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  your  beauty  for  the 
first  time.  I  thought,  '  Why,  this  is  a  woman 
to  love  !'  But  frankly  it  wasn't  the  first  time 
I  had  thought  that  of  a  woman,  and,  according 
to  experience,  it  seemed  to  me  an  unimportant 
discovery.  Only  I  thought  it  again  shortly, 
and  again  in  a  segregated  kind  of  way,  until  at 
last  the  thought  dropped  down  so  often  it  grew 
as  this  pine-needle  carpet  must  have  grown, 
slowly  but  surely  overlapping  everything 
else.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  know  I  love  you 
any  more  than  the  pine-needles  know  what 
made  them  fall,  or  why  they  keep  on  fall 
ing." 

Satterly  was  speaking  with  apparent  calm 
ness,  but,  as  Annette  looked  aside,  the  excited 
contraction  of  his  eyes  told  a  different  story. 
Annette  had  been  listening  earnestly,  now  she 
leaned  her  hand  on  the  stone  by  her,  and  with 
192 


PRINCESS   I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

a  restless  gesture  rose  to  her  feet.     She  spoke 
slowly. 

"  I  have  always  dreamed  that  if  I  ever  fell  in 
love  it  would  be  so  deeply  and  overwhelmingly 
that  I  think  I  may  have  been,  and  perhaps  I 
am  now,  afraid  to  loosen  my  hold  on  myself. 
That  may  be  the  trouble.  But  whatever  the 
reason  is,  that  hold  is  still  there,  Mr.  Satter- 
ly.  You  have  taught  me  nothing,  and  I  am 
still  my  own.  If  I  had  to  marry  you"  —  she 
turned  to  Satterly  with  a  smile  so  sweet  and 
so  frank  that  his  heart  sank  in  his  breast — 
"  I  believe  I  could  make  you  fairly  happy,  and 
you  me,  but  I  can  be  sure  of  nothing  more 
ideal  than  that,  and  that  is  not  very  ideal,  is 
it  ?  As  I  said,  if  I  had  to  marry  you,  I  think 
it  would  be  in  all  probability  best  and  happiest 
for  me  ;  but  marriages  can't  be  made  in  that 
way,  and  as  it  has  to  be  deliberate,  and  as  the 
last  word  has  to  lie  with  me,  I  cannot  take  the 
responsibility  of  making  it  yes — it  must  be  no." 

She  paused  in  a  sudden  embarrassment,  look 
ing  away  from  Satterly  over  the  edge  of  the 
rocky  nest  down  on  the  curved  beach  at  the 
foot  of  the  bluff.  As  she  stood  she  shivered 
slightly. 

"  It  grows  very  cold,"  she  began,  convention 
ally.  Suddenly  she  interrupted  herself,  crying 
out  in  another  voice,  "  Look  !  look  !  our  boat !" 

Satterly  sprang  to  his  feet  beside  her.     He 
had  left  their  flat-bottomed  sharpy  beached  on 
N  193 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

the  sands  with  the  oars  drawn  into  it ;  now  it 
was  floating  free  on  the  water,  each  moment 
drifting  farther,  and  already  some  distance 
away.  The  stealthy  tide,  rising  and  falling 
softly  and  rapidly,  had  washed  off  the  light 
shell.  They  both  stood  staring  helplessly  af 
ter  it. 

"  Can  we  do  nothing  ?"  cried  Annette,  aghast. 
"We  might  as  well  be  in  a  prison  with  our  key 
drifting  away." 

In  answer  Satterly  flung  back  his  head  sud 
denly,  looking  full  in  her  face  with  wide-opened 
eyes  that  fairly  spoke,  though  she  failed  to 
read  the  thought  behind.  An  overwhelming 
sense  of  something  trembling  in  the  balance 
seized  her,  but  a  moment  later  he  had  turned 
from  her  as  if  with  a  wrench  of  will-power,  and 
began  to  climb  from  the  deep  nest  to  the  rocks 
above.  His  foot  was  on  the  upper  ledge  when 
Annette,  following  him,  caught  his  arm. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  cried, 
sharply.  Her  upturned  face  was  suffused  with 
color,  her  lips  were  quivering,  her  eyes  terri 
fied.  Satterly  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful 
or  so  womanly. 

"The  boat,"  he  answered,  simply,  looking 
down  at  her.  "  I  can  overtake  it." 

"  You  must  not  try.     I  implore  you !     These 

waters  are  always  bitterly  cold.    Now  they  are 

icy.     They  will  send  out  a  search-party  from 

home  after  nightfall,  so  we  have  only  to  wait," 

194 


PRINCESS  I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

she  went  on,  resolutely,  as  his  arm  seemed  to 
stiffen  under  her  grasp.  "  I  am  not  afraid,  and 
I  am  woman  enough,  Mr.  Satterly,  and  proud 
enough,  to  be  indifferent." 

Satterly  broke  from  her  hold. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said.  "  Go  to  the  back  of  the 
rock.  For  God's  sake  don't  follow  me  with 
your  eyes  !  If  I  should  fail,  you  could  do  noth 
ing  whatever  to  help  me."  He  drew  himself 
up  and  over  the  edge.  His  footfall  sounded  on 
the  hard  stone  fainter  and  fainter.  Annette 
stood  for  a  moment  motionless,  then  dropped 
down  into  the  hollow,  crouching  against  the 
wall,  her  face  hidden,  her  eyes  and  ears  sealed — 
waiting. 

A  half-hour  later  the  low  sun,  hanging  like  a 
red  disk  over  the  water,  shone  blindingly  into 
Annette's  face  as  she  sat  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat  facing  Satterly,  who  was  rowing.  She 
was  utterly  silent,  and  he  noticed  that  the  glow 
in  the  sky,  sea,  and  air  failed  to  warm  her 
pallor.  Her  face  was  grave,  her  manner  se 
rious. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Satterly,  apologetically. 
"  It  was  a  careless  trick  on  my  part.  I  should 
have  remembered  what  a  thief  the  water  is ; 
but,  indeed,"  he  went  on,  laughing,  "  you  need 
not  take  it  so  solemnly.  Except  for  your  sad 
fright  and  a  little  wad  of  wet  underwear  in  the 
locker,  there's  no  harm  done.  It  was  not  so 
195 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

bad  at  is  looked.  The  tide  was  with  me,  and 
the  water  was  not  too  cold." 

Annette  dropped  her  hand  over  the  side  of 
the  boat,  trailing  it  in  the  water,  and  drew  it 
out  again  blue  with  the  chill.  Her  voice  was 
shaking,  but  she  spoke  with  a  cold  precision. 

"  You  risked  your  life.  The  tide  could  have 
swept  you  out  and  the  cold  have  cramped  you. 
It  is  a  marvel  that  neither  happened.  I  shall 
never  as  long  as  I  live  forget  those  moments  I 
spent  crouching  down  among  the  pine-needles 
at  the  back  of  that  rock.  I  was  afraid  to  see 
or  hear,  I  tried  to  bury  myself  alive." 

"  I  know,"  said  Satterly  ;  "  I  had  almost  to 
shake  you  awake  when  I  came  back.  It  was 
like  a  disappointment,  wasn't  it,  with  such 
preparation  for  horrors  ?" 

The  recollection  of  her  terrors  and  his  light 
manner  seemed  to  double  Annette's  annoy 
ance. 

"What  right  had  you  to  impose  such  an  ex 
perience  on  me?  I  am  not  speaking  of  any 
duty  to  yourself." 

Satterly  did  not  answer.  She  went  on  rest 
lessly: 

"  I  can't  forgive  you  for  any  of  it.  I  am 
weighed  down  by  the  obligations  you  persist 
ently  thrust  on  me.  It  is  not  generous." 

Then  he  looked  up,  his  brow  reddening. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  quickly. 
He  rowed  less  strongly,  and  the  tide  swept 
196 


PRINCESS   I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

heavily  against  the  bow  of  the  boat  until  his 
face  was  in  the  sunlight,  and  Annette  could 
see  plainly  his  look  of  indignant  repudiation. 
"  On  the  contrary,  you  are  now  under  no  ob 
ligation  of  any  kind.  You  are  not  Princess 
I-Wot-What-I-Must,  as  you  might  have  been. 
You  are  still  Princess  I-Would-I-Wot-Not." 

Annette's  head  rose  proudly. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  I  did  not  mean  it 
when  I  told  you  on  the  island  I  was  willing  to 
wait  for  rescue  ?" 

"  You  thought  you  meant  it ;  but  as  I  was  I, 
and  you  you,  if  the  chance  of  escape  had  been 
one  in  a  million,  and  I  had  but  half  a  life  to 
risk,  I  ought  to  have  risked  it." 

"Why?" 

But  Satterly  had  already  regained  his  com 
posure  and  his  usual  easy  good-humor. 

"  I  refuse  to  answer,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Just 
now  you  stung  me  into  saying  a  great  deal  more 
than  I  should." 

"  You  may  as  well  go  on,  as  you  have  said 
so  much.  You  think,  in  a  word,  that  with  the 
publicity,  the  hue -and -cry  of  a  search-party 
looking  for  us,  I  should  not  have  been  exactly 
in  a  position  that  forced  me  to  marry  you,  but 
where  it  would  have  been  more  comfortable  to 
my  worldly-mindedness  to  do  so,  and  so,  world 
ly  to  the  end,  I  would  have  married  you  as  a 
mere  escape  from  annoyance." 

Satterly  showed  that  he  braced  himself  for 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

what  he  saw  had  to  come.  "  It  is  what  you 
would  have  done,"  he  said,  firmly,  "and  what 
indubitably  I  should  have  grasped  at  your  do 
ing,  and  far  better  have  died  than  been  party 
to.  You  are  very  angry  with  me,  I  see.  I  don't 
wonder.  I  hardly  think  it  will  mend  matters 
for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  worship  you  just  as 
you  are,  worldly-mindedness  and  all.  You  are 
not  worldly  at  the  core  of  your  heart,  but  you 
have — you  can't  deny  it — you  have  lived  and 
outlived  some  things  that  other  women  have 
yet  to  fathom.  You  know,  for  instance,  exactly 
how  valuable  the  world's  opinion  is,  and  what 
it  means  to  run  even  a  little  counter  to  it.  I 
mean  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth  now  ;  it  is 
better.  When  I  saw  the  boat  drifting  off,  I  re 
membered  that  you  had  just  told  me  you  could 
marry  me  if  you  had  to  do  so,  and  be  fairly 
happy.  I  knew — forgive  me — that  you  would 
consent  to  marry  me  because  of  that  accident, 
of  wind  and  tide,  and  deep  down  in  my  heart 
I  knew  all  in  a  moment  that  I  should  not  be 
strong  enough  to  resist  such  a  temptation. 
My  only  salvation  was  to  plunge  in  at  once, 
and  come  back  with  the  boat,  or  never  come 
back  to  you  at  all.  You  must  see  that." 

"You  risked  your  life,  then,  to  save  me  from 
yourself  ?" 

Satterly  laughed,  and  shook  his  head.  "  I 
don't  know.  I  am  getting  out  of  my  depth  now. 
I  tell  you  I  haven't  the  kind  of  mind  that  un- 


PRINCESS   I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 

tangles  metaphysical  confusions.  I  only  know 
that  I  love  you,  and  I  stand  now  where  I  stood 
before  the  boat  drifted  away — with  a  fair  field, 
but  no  favor  whatever." 

"  You  risked  your  life  to  save  me  from  your 
self,"  Annette  repeated.  Her  voice  was  hard 
and  mechanical.  "  You  knew  me  better  than  I 
knew  myself.  Yes,  I  would  have  married  you. 
It  was  very  nobly  done." 

Satterly  replied  by  silence  only,  which  An 
nette  made  no  effort  to  break.  He  bent  to  his 
oars,  rowing  strongly,  while  the  sun  sank  and 
twilight  settled  on  the  waters.  It  was  dark 
when  the  homing  boat  with  its  two  silent  occu 
pants  wove  its  way  through  the  shipping  and 
touched  at  the  landing -pier.  They  could  see 
the  old  weather-worn  boat-master  standing  on 
the  floating  wharf  with  his  lantern  lit,  peering 
out  over  the  harbor,  waiting  for  them.  He  had 
heard  the  splash  of  oars,  and  this  was  the  last 
boat  out.  Satterly  took  the  lantern  from  him, 
crossing  the  seats  to  the  stern  where  Annette 
sat.  As  he  lifted  the  light,  and  it  fell  full  on 
her  face,  he  paused  in  amazement,  his  hand  ex 
tended  to  help  her.  It  was  Annette  who  spoke 
to  the  boatman,  bidding  him  bring  her  some 
wrappings  from  the  boat-house. 

The  man  turned  away,  and  she  rose,  taking 
the  hand  Satterly  was  still  mechanically  offer 
ing.  As  she  stood  beside  him,  the  lifted  light 
showed  plainly  her  flushed  and  tear- wet  cheeks. 
199 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Her  voice  was  soft  with  emotion,  low  with 
earnestness.  All  the  tenderness  of  her  beauty 
shone  on  Satterly  as  through  a  mist.  It  was 
the  same  imploring  face  that  had  looked  up  at 
him  from  the  rocky  nest. 

"  I  sent  him  away  on  purpose,  because  I  can't 
let  myself  leave  this  boat  without  speaking. 
Don't  try  to  help  me.  I  ought  to  say  it  alone. 
I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  a  man  like  your 
self — no,  don't  speak.  But  I  have  learned  one 
thing  from  you  to-night,  and  you'll  teach  me 
more.  I  know  now  that  I  never  shall  learn 
what  love  is  except  by  loving  and  sacrificing 
as  you  do.  It  is  with  you  that  the  last  word 
lies,  but  you  must  never  again  call  me  Princess 
I-Would-I-Wot-Not,  for  now,  though  I  don't 
know  just  what  it  means,  just  as  you  do,  I  wot 
what  I  want." 

The  old  boatman,  limping  down  the  pier 
with  the  wrappings,  broke  into  a  run  as  he 
heard  a  crash  and  saw  the  light  fall  and  dis 
appear  from  the  rowboat.  When  he  reached 
the  wharf,  Satterly  was  stumblingly  helping 
Annette  over  the  broken  glass  of  the  lantern 
and  the  seats  of  the  boat.  They  were  bcth 
groping  and  laughing. 

"  Lost  your  light,  sir  ?"  came  the  unnecessary 
question. 

And  Satterly's  voice,  strong  and  exultant, 
rang  out  from  the  darkness  :  "  I  ?  Oh  no  ! 
I've  only  just  found  it." 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

A    TRUE     STORY    OF    LITTLE    RUSSIA 

IT  seems  a  far  call  to  the  village  of  Evan- 
ovka,  in  the  heart  of  Little  Russia,  and  a  far 
ther  call  yet  to  the  heart  of  the  Little  Russian 
moujik  living  there  ;  but,  while  the  sun  rises  in 
the  east  and  sets  in  the  west,  there  will  be 
nothing  new  under  the  sun. 

All  the  youth  and  jollity  of  Evanovka — 
Heaven  knows  there  is  little  enough  of  the 
latter — are  assembled  together  in  a  one-room 
isba  which  it  will  not  tax  the  eyes  of  the  imag 
ination  to  see.  It  has  but  one  door  and  one 
small  window,  both  cut  in  the  same  wall.  A 
great  oven,  built  of  stone,  juts  out  from  the 
opposite  side,  its  chimney,  also  of  stone,  rising 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  almost  a  wall  in  itself. 
The  furniture  consists  of  a  rudely  made  table 
and  a  couple  of  long  wooden  benches.  The 
light  of  the  home-made  tallow  candles,  which 
stand  on  the  table  stuck  in  old  bottles  or  with 
only  their  own  drippings  as  candlestick,  falls 
on  a  circle  of  young  girls  variously  employed. 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Some  are  weaving  bits  of  carpet  which  they 
will  wear  as  skirts,  others  are  spinning  coarse 
linen,  and  others  again  cutting  and  sewing  the 
linen  into  garments.  There  is  not  an  article 
of  dress  worn  in  the  room  which  is  not  in  a 
state  of  reproduction  under  busy  fingers. 

By  law  of  comparison,  the  day  of  labor  is 
over.  This  work  does  not  prevent  laughter 
and  jesting  with  the  young  men  of  the  village 
who  have  crowded  in  and  sit  on  the  floor  or 
where  they  can.  They  are  mere  boys  of  eigh 
teen  or  nineteen,  but  grinding  poverty  and  un 
remitting  work  may  induce  maturity  even  more 
rapidly  than  the  sunny  side  o'  the  wall. 

Each  wears  his  high  fur  cap  and  is  wrapped 
in  his  sheepskin  schuba,  the  untanned  skin  and 
rough  stitches  on  the  outside,  the  fur  in. 

According  to  a  time -honored  custom,  the 
young  people  have  come  together  to  spend  the 
night  in  work  and  play.  They  meet  thus  in 
this  isba,  which  is  set  apart  for  the  purpose, 
once  or  twice  a  week  during  the  winter  months, 
as  did  their  fathers  and  mothers  before  them, 
and  as  will  their  children  after  them,  and 
think  no  evil. 

As  the  voices  and  laughter  merge  together 
occasionally  in  a  swinging  peasant  chorus,  the 
curious  rhythmic  air — always  in  the  minor  key 
— is  supported  by  a  full  contralto  voice  ;  and  it 
is  the  same  voice,  almost  guttural  in  depth, 
but  singularly  rich,  which  creates  an  audience 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

whenever  it  is  raised  to  speak.  This  is  Neila, 
the  village  beauty.  She  is  speaking  now. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  true  that  the  Princess  works, 
and  as  hard  as  I  do,  Masha,  or  you." 

In  answer  to  the  general  laughter  which  fol 
lowed  her  remark,  Neila  dropped  her  sewing  in 
her  lap,  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
rested  her  chin  in  her  hands,  overlooking  the 
room  with  her  large  brown  eyes. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  true,"  she  repeated,  deliber 
ately. 

A  young  moujik,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor 
near  her,  did  not  join  in  the  laughter.  This 
lowly  attitude  at  the  feet  of  their  women  had 
its  root  in  convenience,  and  began  and  ended 
in  its  literalness  with  the  young  peasants  of 
Evanovka ;  but  Dimitri,  better  known  as  Mitia, 
the  diminutive  of  Dimitri,  was  an  exception, 
as  Neila  well  knew. 

"  Who  has  told  you  that  the  Barina  works, 
Neila  ?"  he  asked. 

Neila  dropped  her  eyes  on  him  for  a  moment. 
Apparently  she  was  never  conscious  of  Mitia's 
exits  and  entrances,  but  when  she  wished  to 
single  him  out  there  was  no  hesitation  in  her 
glance,  however  crowded  the  room. 

She  answered  his  question  to  the  company 
at  large,  and  with  an  air  of  indifference. 

"  The  Barina  told  me  herself." 

As  they  stared  at  her,  open-mouthed,  Neila 
explained  further.  "  It  was  like  this.  It  was 
203 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

in  a  warm  week  in  the  last  summer,  and  the 
Princess  would  bring  her  papers  into  the  gar 
den,  and  she  would  sit  in  the  shade  of  the 
apple-tree  just  by  the  flower-bed  I  was  weed 
ing,  and  she  would  write,  and  she  would  write 
and  write." 

With  a  quick  motion  the  peasant  girl  lifted 
her  work  from  her  lap  and  folded  it  in  book- 
shape  on  the  table,  scribbling  over  it  with  an 
imaginary  pen  which  she  dipped  into  an  im 
aginary  inkstand.  Her  companions  watched 
her  with  absorbed  attention. 

"  Every  day  I  would  weed  the  bed  and  make 
the  end  in  each  line  run  close  by  her  Excel 
lency's  side.  Every  day  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  ask  her  what  she  was  writing  and 
writing  about." 

She  paused  for  an  effective  moment,  and 
helped  herself  to  a  dried  sunflower  seed  which 
she  selected  from  a  pile  which  Mitia  had  poured 
on  the  table  before  her. 

"You  asked  the  Barina  that,  Neila!"  ex 
claimed  Mitia. 

"  I  did,"  ansAvered  Neila,  cooly  blowing  the 
husk  of  the  seed  from  her  lips.  "I  said  one 
day,  'Will  your  illustrious  Highness  pardon 
me  for  approaching  you,  but  will  your  High 
ness  tell  me  what  you  are  writing?'  And  the 
Barina  was  pleased  to  smile  at  me  most  gra 
ciously,  and  told  me  what  I  did  not  understand, 
and  so,  of  course,  you  cannot.  She  said,  '  I  am 
204 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

writing  my  diary.'     '  What  is  diary  ?'  I  asked 
her.    'I  write  down  in  this  book  all  that  I  do  ev 
ery  day,'  she  replied  to  me ;  and  then  I  said,  as 
you  have  said,  '  But  your  Highness  does  noth 
ing,'  and  she  laughed  a  long  time  before  she 
answered  me  at  all.     At  last  she  asked,  '  What 
is  your  name  ?'  and  when  I  told  her  she  ex 
plained  to  me  that,  although  she  did  not  weed 
and  dig  and  water  as  I  do,  she  also  worked  in 
ways  which  she  would  tell  me  of,  and  she  told 
me  for  a  long  time  ;  but  if  it  took  the  Princess 
herself  to  make  me  understand,  it  would   be 
useless  for  me  to  try  to  explain  to  you.     Yes, 
the  Princess  works,  I  tell  you,  only  she  works  in 
her  own  way,  which  is  not  our  way — not  at  all." 
As  she  ended,  Ne'ila  caught  up  her  sewing 
again,  and  while  her  audience  discussed  her  ex 
perience  with  true  moujik  heaviness  and  delib 
eration,  she  stitched  on  with  marvellous  rapid 
ity  as  if  unconscious  of  the  sensation  she  had 
caused.     She  had  thrown  aside  her  schuba,  and, 
thus   unencumbered,  her  strong,  graceful  fig 
ure,  a  little  above  middle  height,  showed  freely 
as  she  moved.     Masha,  the  girl  seated  nearest 
to  Ne'ila,  sighed  enviously  as  she  looked  at  her. 
Neila's  kaftan  was  trimmed  with  rows  of  gay 
ribbons,  her  skirt  was  of  bright  calico,  and  her 
heavy  braids  of  brown  hair  were  tied  with  three 
ribbons  where  Masha's  were  tied  with  but  one. 
Masha  fingered  discontentedly  the  clumsy  car 
pet-strips  which  hung  from  her  waist. 
205 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"Why  is  it  that  you  will  not  wear  carpet 
skirts  as  I  do,  Neila?"  she  asked,  aggrievedly. 

Neila  moved  restlessly.  She  stretched  out 
her  booted  feet,  kicking  them  a  little.  It  was 
an  added  aggravation  to  Masha  that  the  boots 
had  bright  red  tops. 

"  I  like  to  be  free,  and  if  I  can  work  fast  and 
make  money,  I  may  buy  what  I  choose." 

Masha  sighed  again  as  she  watched  the  swift 
fingers.  Neila  could  drop  her  work  and  hold 
the  attention  of  the  entire  room,  and  yet  she 
had  more  finery  for  the  present,  and  more  laid 
by  for  her  trousseau,  than  any  girl  in  the  village. 
She  was  then  decorating  a  Sunday  rubasJiki  (a 
garment  which  serves  as  chemisette  and  skirt) 
with  drawn-work  at  the  top  and  bottom,  and 
about  the  neck  and  sleeves.  There  were  no 
patterns  to  copy.  Neila  was  designing  for  her 
self,  drawing  out  some  threads  and  catching 
others  together  with  a  button-hole  stitch.  The 
every  day  rubashki  she  wore  was  embroidered 
simply  with  the  national  embroidery — a  cross- 
stitch  in  blue  and  red  thread  on  the  white  linen. 

"  Is  that  for  your  trousseau,  Neila  ?"  asked 
Masha,  nodding  her  head  towards  the  new  gar 
ment. 

Every  peasant  girl  expects  to  marry,  and 
prepares  her  trousseau  accordingly.  For  what 
else  is  she  born  ! 

Neila  replied,  with    a  shrug  of  her  strong 
shoulders,  "  I  shall  not  marry  at  all !" 
206 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

She  lifted  her  work  as  if  to  examine  the  pat 
tern,  with  the  candle-light  behind  it.  Through 
the  network  of  threads  Mitia's  blue  eyes  sought 
hers,  reproachfully  and  sheepishly.  Masha  and 
the  other  girls  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 
They  were  fond  of  laughing  at  Mitia.  He 
was  the  water-carrier  for  the  garden  where 
they  worked  in  summer,  and  they  had  even 
seen  him  take  Neila's  water-pot  from  her  hand 
and  water  her  part  of  the  flower-beds  after  his 
own  labors  were  over.  They  had  not  been 
spoiled  by  such  civility  themselves.  It  struck 
them  as  amusing. 

"  No  one  ever  comes  for  me,"  sighed  Neila, 
coquettishly — "no  one.  In  the  name  of  all 
the  saints,  what  is  that  ?" 

She  half  rose,  pointing  with  extended  arm 
towards  the  little  window  cut  near  the  door. 
All  eyes  turned  in  the  same  direction.  Framed 
in  the  sash,  and  pressed  close  against  the  glass, 
they  saw  a  bearded  face  surmounted  by  the  in 
evitable  high  fur  cap  of  a  Little  Russian  moujik. 

The  light  of  a  lantern  which  the  intruder 
held  in  his  uplifted  hand  showed  his  features 
with  ghostly  dimness,  and  also  showed  that  he 
beckoned  with  his  free  hand. 

"  It  is  you  he  calls,  Neila,"  whispered  Masha, 
crossing  herself,  fearfully.  "  You  have  wished 
for  some  one,  and  he  has  come  for  you." 

Neila,    braver,    but    not    less    superstitious, 
crossed  herself  also  with  pious  fervor. 
207 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  May  the  Mother  of  God  forbid  !  It  is  only 
a  monjik ;  but  his  look  is  not  true.  It  is  you 
that  he  beckons,  Mitia,  not  I." 

Later,  Masha's  words  were  remembered. 
Fatalism  is  religion  with  the  moujik.  Ask  him 
why  he  makes  no  effort  to  contest  his  small 
plot  of  land  with  the  locust  when  that  scourge 
sweeps  his  all  from  him,  and  he  will  reply  to 
you,  raking  his  heavy  fingers  through  his 
heavy  hair  as  if  to  stir  the  heavy  brain  be 
neath,  "  God  sends  it — let  it  be  so." 

In  response  to  Neila's  suggestion,  Mitia  rose 
from  her  side  and  approached  the  window. 
As  he  opened  the  little  glass  door  cut  in  the 
inner  part  of  the  double  frame,  he  found  him 
self  face  to  face  with  the  new-comer.  The 
corresponding  door  in  the  outer  frame  was  al 
ready  unlatched  and  open. 

With  an  exclamation,  Mitia  wrapped  his 
schuba  more  closely  about  him,  pressed  his  fur 
cap  down  over  his  ears  and  hurried  from  the 
door. 

"How  have  you  come  here,  Trophime?"  he 
called.  The  figure  moved  from  the  window 
and  joined  him.  Both  men  removed  their 
caps  and  kissed  each  other  on  the  lips  in  greet 
ing. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  horse-fair,  Mitia.  Un 
less  you  will  take  me  in  for  the  rest  of  the 
night,  I  must  walk  over  thirteen  versts  to  Ra- 
gazan." 

208 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Mitia  welcomed  the  belated  wanderer  heart 
ily.  Visitors  were  a  pleasant  novelty  ;  for  life 
was  given  for  work,  and  the  villages  lay  very 
far  apart.  Ragazan  was  called  a  near  neigh 
bor. 

"Wait  for  me  here,"  said  Mitia.  "I  must 
say  one  word  inside  first,  and  then  we  will  go 
to  my  father's  hut  together." 

Trophime  checked  him,  glancing  again 
through  the  window. 

"  Why  should  we  go  yet,  Mitia  ?  They  are 
having  a  good  time  in  there,  those  others." 
He  jerked  his  thumb  towards  the  isba  as  he 
spoke.  Mitia  hesitated. 

"  If  I  took  you  in  there  they  would  be  angry. 
You  know  it  is  not  allowed  to  a  stranger." 

"  Who  knows  what  is  allowed  until  he  tries  ? 
You  were  always  bragging  of  your  girls  last 
summer.  Let  me  see  if  they  are  as  pretty  as 
ours." 

The  challenge  told.  Mitia  still  shook  his 
head.  "  They  will  never  allow  it,"  he  repeat 
ed,  but  he  opened  the  door  and  made  the  at 
tempt.  Neila's  voice  rose  above  the  discus 
sion  which  followed  his  proposition. 

"  What  does  he  wish  to  come  in  here  for  ?" 
she  asked. 

Mitia  looked  at  her  consciously. 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow.  I  worked  a  field  with 
him  on  the  farm  last  summer.  He  wants  no 
harm." 

o  209 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Neila  glanced  at  him  with  a  quick,  sidelong 
look. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  What  does  he 
want,  then  ?" 

Mitia  removed  his  cap  and  scratched  the 
mat  of  fair  hair  which  he  wore  combed  straight 
down  over  brow,  ears,  and  neck.  It  was  use 
less  to  contend  with  Neila.  She  turned  his 
soul  inside  out  as  easily  as  he  did  his  schuba. 

"  He  wishes  to  see  if  our  girls  are  as  pretty 
as  the  girls  of  Ragazan,"  he  blurted  out,  red 
dening. 

"  Oh,  let  him  come,"  replied  Neila,  dryly. 

Seemingly,  she  lost  further  interest.  Her 
needle  flew  under  her  ringers.  The  question 
lay  with  the  rest.  Finally  the  permission  was 
granted,  and  Mitia  brought  in  Trophime. 

Dazzled  and  blinded  by  the  lights  after  the 
darkness  outside,  the  stranger  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  curious  eyes. 
He  was  a  handsome  young  peasant,  magnifi 
cently  animal,  with  his  powerful  frame,  strong 
jaw,  full  eyes,  and  coarse,  vigorous  hair.  As 
his  vision  cleared,  the  first  object  it  held  was 
Neila,  yet  the  other  girls  had  all  looked  up 
from  their  various  employments. 

Her  eyes  alone  remained  glued  to  her  work. 
One  sleeve  was  pushed  back  to  the  elbow,  per 
haps  for  greater  convenience,  and  the  bare, 
well-moulded  arm  moved  backward  and  for 
ward,  following  the  needle. 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Trophime  stood  gazing  at  her  blinkingly. 
Neila  looked  up.  Her  eyes  were  as  brown  as 
berries,  and  her  teeth,  as  her  lips  parted  over 
them  unexpectedly,  were  like  young  corn. 

Trophime  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  on 
the  floor  by  her  side. 

One  by  one,  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  occu 
pants  of  the  hut  rolled  themselves  up  in  their 
schubas  and  stretched  themselves  on  the  top 
of  the  stove,  where  they  soon  fell  asleep  in  the 
warmth.  When  the  stove  was  full,  the  others, 
less  fortunate,  laid  their  wearied  limbs  on  the 
floor,  but  as  the  floor  would  probably  have 
been  their  bed  at  home,  they  did  not  com 
plain. 

Trophime  and  Neila  alone  talked  on  and  on  ; 
a  dull  excitement  was  taking  the  place  of  sleep 
in  Trophime's  light -gray  eyes,  and  Neila's 
brown  eyes  shone  on  him  like  the  stars  in  the 
night  he  had  left  outside. 

For  Neila,  a  new  conquest  was  a  new  con 
quest.  She  could  sleep  to-morrow. 

Mitia  had  watched  with  them  for  a  time,  but 
the  conversation  had  resolved  itself  into  a  dia 
logue,  and  the  dialogue  into  whispers.  His 
body  was  tired  after  his  day  of  labor,  and  his 
soul  was  not  much  troubled.  It  was  nothing 
new  to  see  Neila  coquet  with  other  men,  To 
morrow  she  would  smile  in  his  face  again, 
would  be  his  partner  if  there  were  dancing, 
eat  sunflower  seeds  from  his  pocket,  and  at  the 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

next  meeting  in  the  hut  she  would  let  him  sit 
at  her  feet  and  look  up  at  her  as  he  sang  his 
love-songs.  And  then,  if  the  coming  harvest 
were  good  and  he  could  prove  to  old  Anton, 
her  father,  that  he  was  able  to  support  a  wife 
— why,  then —  Mitia  was  fast  asleep  in  his 
schnba. 

"Let  him  sleep,"  whispered  Trophime.  "My 
God  and  my  Lord  !  are  the  men  of  this  vil 
lage  without  eyes,  that  you  are  yet  unmar 
ried  ?" 

"  God  has  given  them  eyes  to  see  their  hands 
with,  and  hands  to  do  their  work  with,"  Neila 
replied,  sharply,  pushing  away  Trophime's  en 
croaching  arm. 

He  drew  back,  laughing. 

"  Tell  me  who  he  is,  then.  Which  one  of 
them  here  has  asked  you  to  fix  the  day  ?" 

Neila  lowered  her  lids.  Beneath  her  long 
lashes  she  looked  down  on  Mitia's  slender,  sin 
ewy  figure  stretched  out  on  the  floor  near 
them. 

"  No  one,"  she  replied,  smiling — "  no  one.  I 
I  am  too  ugly." 

Trophime  laughed  loudly.  Neila  hushed 
him  with  lifted  hand. 

"  Be  quiet  !  You  will  wake  the  others.  Why 
are  you  laughing  ?" 

Trophime  drew  nearer  to  her,  whispering: 
"  Come  now,  my  beauty,  suppose  I  should  ask 
you  to  fix  the  day  ?" 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Neila  threw  back  her  comely  head  with  a 
smothered  laugh,  which  she  caught  in  her 
throat  with  her  hand.  The  rows  of  beads 
twisted  there  on  the  warm  skin,  above  the 
loosely  gathered  rubasliki,  clattered  together. 

"  It  is  very  well,"  she  said,  nodding  with 
mock  solemnity.  "  Very  well,  indeed  !  We 
will  fix  the  festival  of  Christmas.  It  is  two 
weeks  off,  and  you  are  not  to  forget  me  when 
the  time  comes." 

"  That  would  be  likely,  indeed  !  But  a  bar 
gain  is  no  bargain  without  the  seal." 

He  caught  her  arm  as  he  spoke  and  bent  his 
face  towards  her  for  a  kiss  ;  but  strong  as  the 
young  moujik  was,  he  had  not  reckoned  on 
the  unexpected  force  with  which  Neila  met 
his  advances. 

"Take  that  !"  she  cried,  warningly,  as  her 
vigorous  arm  sent  him  staggering  back  against 
the  table.  The  jar  shook  down  one  of  the  bot 
tle  candlesticks,  which  rolled  over  and  over 
and  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  crash  of  breaking 
glass.  The  sleepers  started  up,  complaining 
and  muttering. 

Mitia,  roused  also,  rose  and  spoke  with  a 
rude  dignity. 

"  My  father's  hut  is  close  by,  Trophime.  We 
will  finish  the  night  there.  Come." 

Trophime  turned  from  him  angrily,  but,  in 
the  face  of  the  general  discontent,  submitted  in 
sullen  silence.  Neila  would  not  glance  at  him 
213 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

again.  As  he  bade  her  good-night  she  turned 
her  shoulder  to  him,  muttering  a  proverb — 
"  Measure  the  cloth  ten  times  before  you  cut  it 
once." 

Mitia  heard.  His  face  softened  ;  he  touched 
Neila's  hand  awkwardly,  as  it  hung  by  her 
side  near  him. 

"  May  you  sleep  well,  Ne'ila  !"  he  whispered, 
and  went  out,  followed  by  Trophime. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  village  was 
astir,  Trophime,  his  brief  visit  over,  had  set 
out  on  foot  for  his  home. 

One  noonday,  a  week  before  the  coming  fes 
tival,  old  Anton,  the  head  herdsman  of  the 
Prince,  sat  in  his  isba  contentedly  eating  his 
dinner.  He  felt  that  he  had  reason  to  be  con 
tent.  He  had  earned  it.  His  hut  had  two 
rooms,  and  in  the  inner  room  there  was  a  bed 
stead  covered  with  blankets  and  sheepskins 
where  he  might  sleep  if  he  wished.  It  hap 
pened  that  he  preferred  the  top  of  the  stove, 
but  that  was  of  choice. 

The  isba  was  a  model  of  neatness  ;  the  table 
and  benches  were  scoured  thoroughly,  and  the 
stove  was  newly  whitewashed,  ready  for  the 
Christmas  festival.  The  kasha  (a  thick  gruel 
of  grits)  which  he  was  eating,  the  black  rye- 
bread,  the  sour  «cabbage-soup,  and  the  salted 
cucumbers  were  all  prepared  to  a  nicety. 
True,  it  was  Nastasia,  his  wife,  whose  work 
214 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

this  was,  but  had  it  not  been  he  who  had  se 
lected  her  for  this  purpose  ? 

In  regard  to  Neila,  his  only  child,  Anton  telt 
that  he  had  done  well  also.  Not  because  she 
was  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  village,  but  be 
cause  she  knew  how  to  work  and  earn  money, 
of  which  she  gave  him  a  faithful  proportion. 
What  he  had  himself  laid  by  in  the  pouch  hid 
den  in  the  patron  image  was  nobody's  affair 
but  his  own.  There  was,  however,  one  matter 
which,  while  not  exactly  troubling  him,  lay  on 
Anton's  mind  to  arrange.  He  was  thinking  of 
this  when  he  looked  up  at  his  wife  with  his  lit 
tle  sunken  eyes. 

"  Where  is  Neila  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  hear  her  coming  now,"  answered  Nasta- 
sia,  quickly. 

She  watched  her  husband's  eyes  always  with 
the  timid,  fluttering  manner  of  a  bird  which  a 
cat  fascinates.  She  looked  threescore,  and  was 
in  reality  scarcely  forty  years  old.  But  in  this 
there  was  nothing  unusual. 

The  footsteps  which  Nastasia  heard  outside 
paused  at  the  door,  and  were  followed  by  a 
loud  knock. 

"  Go  to  the  door,"  said  Anton,  and  his  wife 
obeyed  with  a  start.  Lifting  the  latch,  she 
peered  out  timidly  through  the  crack  of  the 
door. 

"  Does  Anton  live  here,  Matiouska  f"  said  a 
voice  outside. 

215 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"That  is  my  name.  Who  is  it  that  wants 
me?"  answered  Anton  himself.  "Open  the 
door  wide,  Nastasia ;  he  is  not  the  wind,  to 
come  through  the  key-hole." 

Nastasia  threw  open  the  door  hurriedly,  and 
Trophime,  bending  his  tall  head,  entered.  He 
walked  straight  up  to  old  Anton's  chair,  and 
bowed  low  before  him. 

" Batushka"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  to  ask 
your  daughter's  hand  of  you.  She  has  prom 
ised  to  marry  me  after  the  Christmas  festival. 
I  am  here  now  to  answer  whatever  questions 
it  pleases  you  to  ask." 

Anton  looked  the  bold  speaker  over  from 
head  to  foot.  Trophime's  schuba  was  evident 
ly  quite  new,  and  was  belted  in  with  a  new 
scarf.  His  fur  cap  was  new  also,  and  his 
boots  creaked  loudly  as  he  walked.  He  bore 
inspection. 

Anton  pushed  a  wooden  spoon  towards  his 
guest  and  pointed  to  the  large  wooden  bowl  in 
the  centre  of  the  table.  From  it  he  and  his 
wife  were  dipping  the  cabbage-soup. 

"Sit  and  eat  with  us.  Talking  is  hungry 
work.  What  is  your  name  ?" 

Trophime  dipped  his  spoon  into  the  bowl 
and  ate  without  hunger.  He  did  not  wish  to 
save  his  breath  for  his  porridge. 

"  My  name  is  Trophime  E vanov.  I  live  at  Ra- 
gazan,  and  have  an  isba  of  two  rooms  as  large 
as  these  to  take  my  wife  to.  My  mother  is  dead. 
216 


IT   IS  THE  CUSTOM 

There  is  no  woman  there  to  quarrel  with.  My 
father  is  old,  but  not  much  trouble.  The  land 
is  rich,  and,  by  the  help  of  God,  I  have  saved  a 
little.  Now  you  know  how  it  is  with  me." 

Anton's  little  eyes  grew  smaller,  and  almost 
disappeared  in  his  wrinkled,  parchment  skin. 
His  large,  white  teeth,  perfectly  preserved  by 
his  diet  of  rye-bread  and  salted  cucumbers, 
glistened  curiously  as  he  smiled. 

"  You  are  Evan's  son,  then,"  he  said.  "  I  re 
member  him  and  his  isba  and  his  land  very 
well.  You  look  as  strong  as  your  father  was 
before  you.  We  will  talk  it  over." 

Nastasia  was  eating  nothing.  She  withdrew 
to  the  stove  and  sat  there  trembling  and 
watching  the  door.  The  two  men  were  talk 
ing  together  with  loud-voiced  satisfaction. 

She  alone  heard  when  the  latch  lifted,  and  a 
strong,  full  voice  on  the  threshold  cried  out 
some  laughing  defiance  to  a  companion  who 
passed  on. 

Neila  pushed  open  the  door  and  took  one 
step  into  the  room.  The  poor  bent  figure  by 
the  stove  trembled  yet  more.  Neila  stood  still 
in  surprise,  the  smile  yet  on  her  lips,  as  Anton 
and  Trophime  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Neila,"  said  Anton,  rapping  the  table  with 
his  short  fingers  at  each  word,  "this  is  your 
husband." 

Neila  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other, 
but  she  was  no  longer  smiling. 
217 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Trophime  rose  and  advanced  towards  her. 

"  You  remember  our  bargain,  Neila,"  he 
said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  have  come." 

Her  brown  eyes  alone  answered  him.  Tro 
phime  quailed  a  little,  but  held  his  ground. 
Neila  passed  him  and  strode  to  her  father's 
side. 

"  What  has  he  told  you  ?"  she  asked,  huskily. 

There  was  no  quailing  on  either  side  here. 
Old  Anton's  gimletlike  eyes  fastened  on  his 
daughter's  piercingly.  He  boasted  that  he 
never  needed  to  beat  his  women. 

"  My  word  is  my  word,"  he  said,  shortly, 
stroking  his  long,  square  beard  as  he  spoke, 
"  and  yours  shall  be  yours.  You  marry  at 
Christmas." 

Neila  turned  fiercely  on  Trophime. 

"  You  are  a  liar !"  she  cried.  "  A  black 
hearted  liar !  That  is  what  you  are.  If  I 
have  promised  any  one  it  is  Mitia,  and  Mitia 
alone." 

Anton  laughed  in  her  face. 

"  Mitia !  with  his  old  father  and  mother,  and 
the  children  like  fleas  in  a  sheep's  wool,  all  set 
tled  on  his  back !" 

He  pointed  to  Trophime,  his  stubby  fingers 
spread  out. 

"  There  stands  your  husband  ;  you  under 
stand  me  ?" 

Nelia's  passionate  eyes  were  the  only  color 
in  her  face. 

218 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

"You  may  kill  me,"  she  muttered.  "Kill 
me,  but  I  will  not  marry  him." 

She  glanced  at  her  mother  as  she  ended. 
Nastasia  half  rose  from  the  bench  with  an  im 
ploring  gesture,  then  sank  back  again.  Her 
trembling  seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  her 
child.  Neila  fell  on  the  floor  at  her  father's 
feet.  Anton  turned  away  indifferently,  leaving 
her  prostrate. 

"  She  is  yours,  Trophime  ;  take  her,"  he  said, 
over  his  shoulder. 

As  Trophime  approached  her  Neila  rose 
slowly.  There  was  no  trace  of  tears  on  her 
face.  Neila  was  never  known  to  weep.  She 
motioned  to  Trophime  to  follow  her,  and  went 
out  of  the  room.  When  he  joined  her  outside 
she  was  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  hut, 
her  body  pressed  close  against  the  rough  logs, 
her  hand  curled  into  a  crevice  supporting  her. 
The  bright  red  of  the  kerchief  on  her  hair 
seemed  repeated  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes 
and  in  the  ragged  patches  of  color  on  either 
cheek. 

As  Trophime  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  she 
shuddered  closer  into  the  wall. 

"  You  know  well  that  it  was  a  jest,"  she  said, 
hoarsely.  "  How  have  you  dared  to  come  for 
me?" 

"  It  is  no  jest  to  me,  Neila.  Listen  to  me. 
You  shall  live  like  a  princess.  You  can  set 
your  foot  on  the  neck  of  every  girl  in  Ragazan. 
219 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

A  hut  with  two  rooms,  and  you  the  only  woman, 
is  surely  better  than — " 

Neila  turned  on  him  fiercely,  wrenching  her 
shoulder  from  his  hand. 

"  Once  for  all,  Trophime,  hear  me.  I  would 
rather  live  with  Mitia  in  a  barn  than  with  you 
in  the  great  house  of  the  Prince.  I  will  marry 
Mitia,  or  no  one." 

Trophime's  face  altered.  "  Gently,  gently,  my 
beauty,"  he  said,  warningly. 

He  took  a  step  nearer  to  her,  and  bent  until 
his  lips  almost  touched  her  ear.  She  could  feel 
his  hot  breath  on  her  neck. 

The  wind,  which  had  been  blowing  down 
little  showers  of  dry  snow  from  the  roof  above, 
had  teased  a  strand  of  Neila's  straight  hair 
from  under  her  kerchief  and  twisted  it  in  a 
dark  line  about  her  throat. 

Trophime  caught  the  hair  necklace  in  his 
finger,  drawing  it  closer.  "  Like  that  I  have 
you,  my  little  bird,"  he  whispered.  "  You  know 
well  I  can  say  that  of  you  which  will  keep  you 
from  being  wife  to  any  other  man." 

Neila  flung  back  her  head  scornfully.  Her 
throat  arched  as  a  serpent's  about  to  strike. 

"  I !"  she  cried,  "  I  can  call  a  dozen  to  wit 
ness  for  me — a  hundred — " 

She  checked  herself  suddenly.  Trophime's 
eyes  were  fastened  on  hers  with  a  triumphant 
question.  As  if  reflected  there,  she  saw  the 
scene  in  the  isba  at  their  first  meeting  :  the 

220 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

sleeping  figures  ;  even  Mitia  unconscious  at 
their  feet ;  saw,  with  a  quick,  terrifying  fore 
shadowing,  her  father's  credulity  and  fury,  a 
marriage  arranged  within  the  hour,  and  herself 
thrust  into  Trophime's  sledge  on  the  road  to 
Ragazan  before  the  sunset. 

The  hair  necklace  at  her  throat  seemed  to 
tighten  chokingly,  although  Trophime  had 
withdrawn  his  finger.  She  fell  against  the  wall 
with  closed  eyes. 

"  But  come,  now,  my  little  queen,"  urged 
Trophime.  "  Marry  me  quietly  and  all  will  be 
well.  You  will  never  repent  it.  Tell  me  to 
come  back  at  Christmas,  Neila." 

Neila  looked  up. 

"Christmas  is  a  week  off,"  she  thought,  rap 
idly,  "  and  to-day  is  to-day.  I  will  say  yes,  and 
trust  in  God  and  Mitia." 

She  dragged  herself  to  her  feet  and  moved 
away  from  the  wall. 

"  Shall  it  be  Christmas.  Neila  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  deliberately,  "it  shall 
be  Christmas." 

"  I  may  tell  Anton  that  it  is  all  arranged  ?" 

"  You  may  tell  him." 

As  Trophime  stretched  out  a  covetous  hand 
towards  her,  she  avoided  his  touch,  and,  doub 
ling  like  a  hare,  passed  him,  gained  the  open 
road,  and  broke  into  a  swift  run. 

Trophime  returned  to  Anton's  hut  slowly, 
hesitating,  and  watching  her  over  his  shoulder. 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"Where  is  she  off  to?"  he  muttered,  but 
Ne'ila  herself  could  not  have  told  him.  When 
she  stopped  running  she  was  in  a  large  field, 
far  from  the  isba,  with  a  vast  expanse  of  white 
all  about  her  and  a  dull  leaden  sky  above. 
There  were  tall,  shadowy  pines  standing  out 
in  occasional  groups.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
field  stood  an  ox-sledge,  the  tracks  of  the  wide 
runners  and  the  feet  of  the  oxen  marking  their 
way  in  the  snow. 

Ne'ila  followed  blindly  in  the  same  path. 
There  was  no  one  with  the  oxen  when  she 
reached  them,  and  she  stood  before  them  look 
ing  into  their  great  brown  eyes  and  wondering 
dully  of  what  they  reminded  her.  Suddenly 
she  recollected  how  Mitia  had  once  told  her 
that  her  eyes  were  like  those  of  the  oxen  he 
drove,  and  how  angry  she  had  been.  She  re 
membered,  too,  that  he  had  said  he  would 
be  working  in  this  field  all  day,  and  then  she 
woke  to  the  realization  of  what  she  had  flown 
from  and  to  whom  ;  she  turned,  and  saw  that 
Mitia  was  close  beside  her. 

Ne'ila  spoke  without  preface. 

"  Mitia,  Trophime  has  come  to  marry  me." 

The  blood  rushed  over  Mitia's  face. 

"  What  have  you  said,  Ne'ila  ?"  he  asked, 
quickly. 

"  Trophime  has  come  to  marry  me.  He  says 
he  had  my  promise." 

"  You  gave  Trophime  your  promise  !" 

222 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

"  No,  it  is  a  lie." 

Mitia  turned  to  his  sledge,  and  swung  him 
self  up  into  the  seat.  He  bent  down,  holding 
out  his  hand  to  Neila. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"Where?" 

"  We  are  going  to  find  him,"  he  answered, 
between  his  teeth. 

Neila  did  not  move. 

"  I  have  more  to  tell  you.  He  is  with  my 
father,  and  my  father  consents." 

Mitia  sprang  from  the  sledge  to  her  side. 

"  Mother  of  God  !  Anton  consents  !  Neila, 
what  more  ?" 

"  I  have  said  I  will  marry  him  at  Christmas, 
and  I  love  thee  !  I  love  thee  as  I  hate  him." 

Defiant,  coquettish,  alluring,  and  evasive  he 
had  known  her.  Now  that  she  confessed  her 
self  his,  the  present  was  enough. 

Mitia's  hand  trembled  as  he  smoothed  her 
ruffled  hair  with  awkward  tenderness. 

"  If  thou  lovest  me,  Neila,  thou  art  mine — 
mine,  I  say.  No  one  shall  claim  thee.  Why 
hast  thou  promised  this  to  Trophime  ?" 

As  he  drew  her  to  him,  Neila  turned  away, 
hiding  her  face. 

"  Wait,  Mitia,"  she  panted.  "  I  promised,  to 
gain  time  ;  but  wait  and  listen  first." 

Mitia  bent  his  ear  closer.  As  he  heard  her 
broken  whispers,  he  started  violently  and  his 
open  face  darkened. 

223 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  as  she  faltered 
once  ;  and  Neila  went  on. 

"  They  will  believe  it  all  in  the  village,  Mitia. 
I  have  no  witness  to  speak  for  me.  My  father 
will  take  Trophime's  word  ;  but  thou,  Mitia, 
as  thou  hopest  for  mercy  from  thy  God,  be 
lieve  in  me." 

Mitia  did  not  speak.  Neila  knew  that  he 
had  lifted  her  face  in  his  hands  and  that  his 
gaze  was  devouring  her  features.  Her  lids 
were  weighted  down  over  her  hot  eyes. 

Mitia's  lips  touched  her  quivering  mouth. 

"What  I  know,  I  know,  Neila.  The  De 
cember  snow  is  not  more  pure  than  thou,  and 
thou  art  mine  alone." 

It  was  the  final  touch.  As  the  strain  lifted, 
Neila  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping.  Mitia 
rocked  her  in  his  arms,  comforting  her. 

"We  have  a  week  yet,  Neila,  my  heart's 
blood.  We  will  bide  here  together  until  Tro- 
phime  leaves  the  village,  and  to-morrow  we 
will  go  to  the  church,  and  as  soon  as  the  serv 
ice  ends  I  will  go  to  the  pope  and  tell  him  all. 
I  will  throw  myself  on  my  knees  before  him 
and  pray  him  to  marry  us  at  once.  Take 
courage,  my  little  pigeon,  my  little  dove  !  And 
for  Trophime — but  no  one  will  believe  his  base 
story." 

Neila  shook  her  head. 

"  Some  would  be  glad  to  help  blacken  my 
name,"  she  said,  simply.  "  My  tongue  has  been 
224 


IT  IS   THE   CUSTOM 

as  sharp  as  my  needle,  and  my  laugh  as  ready 
as  my  trousseau.  Mitia,  if  I  have  worked  my 
trousseau  for  Trophime  I  shall  tear  it  in 
pieces." 

Mitia  wiped  the  tears  from  her  face  with  the 
back  of  his  toil-worn  hand. 

"  It  shall  not  be,  Neila.  Come,  what  shall  I 
say  to  the  pope  ?  Do  thou  be  the  Batushka 
now,  and  let  me  plead  with  thee  ;  then  I  shall 
know  better  what  to  say,  and  be  less  frightened 
when  the  time  comes." 

Neila  smiled  through  her  tears,  throwing 
herself  into  the  part  with  quick  reaction. 

"  Yes,  I  will  stand  here,"  she  said,  "  with  my 
arms  folded,  and  the  back  of  the  sledge  shall 
be  the  door,  and  thou  must  come  in  there, 
Mitia,  and  fall  at  my  feet.  Yes,  that  is  well ; 
and  now  what  wilt  thou  say  ?" 

" Batushka,  I  love  Neila  devotedly,  and  she 
adores  me — " 

"  Who  said  that  I  adore  thee  ?" 

"  And  Neila  loves  me." 

"  Yes,  that  is  better." 

"  Let  me  get  on,  Neila." 

"  I  will,  but  could  I  let  thee  begin  with  a  lie 
to  the  little  father?" 

"  Neila  loves  me,  and  is  waiting  in  the  church, 
but  unless  you  will  marry  us  now,  Anton  will 
marry  her  to  a  black-hearted  devil — " 

"Art  thou  mad,  Mitia?  The  pope  will  ex 
communicate  thee  forever  !  Thou  must  say, 
p  225 


J1MTY,  AND   OTHERS 

,  I  entreat  and  implore  you  to  marry 
us.  I  will  live  on  the  ground  at  your  feet.  I 
will  fast  forever.  I  worship  Neila  next  to  the 
holy  images  and  yourself,  Batushka,  and  she 
worships  me.' " 

"  Is  that  true,  Neila  ?" 

"  Never  mind  now.  The  little  father  will 
hold  out  his  hand  thus,  and  thou  must  kiss  it — 
but  not  so  many  times,  Mitia.  Thou  mightest 
vex  him.  He  will  say,  '  Come,  then,  my  son,  I 
will  marry  you  as  you  wish,  and  she  wishes ; 
for  Neila  has  always  been  a  good  girl,'  and 
then  they  will  hold  the  silver  marriage-crowns 
over  our  heads,  and  they  will  sing — 'Isaiah, 
enter  into  happiness.'  And  now  begin  all  over 
again,  Mitia." 

They  were  not  unhappy.  They  loved  each 
other  and  had  confessed  it.  God  was  very  good, 
and  if  they  made  their  prayers  to  him  and  to 
the  saints,  what  might  not  happen  in  seven 
days  ! 

Again  and  again  they  repeated  their  rehear 
sal  until  Mitia  was  perfect  in  his  part,  with 
Neila  as  priest  and  prompter,  the  snow-covered 
field  as  stage,  the  sledge  as  setting,  and  the 
brown-eyed  oxen  as  audience. 

The  next  morning  they  were  kneeling  side 
by  side  in  the  church,  praying  the  same  prayer 
— that  the  silver  marriage-crowns  might  be 
resting  above  their  heads  within  the  hour. 

The  little  church  where  the  services  were 
226 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

held  was  built  near  the  house  of  the  Prince, 
and  was  connected  with  it  by  a  private  avenue, 
down  which,  as  on  this  morning,  the  Princess 
often  walked  to  take  her  part  in  the  prayers. 

She  knelt  apart  in  the  corner  railed  off  for 
the  Prince's  family  :  for  the  building  was  the 
orthodox  Greek  Church,  and  the  worshippers 
stood  or  knelt ;  there  were  no  pews. 

She  lingered  a  little  after  the  service  to  pray 
before  the  gorgeous  patron  image  of  her  house 
hold,  and  she  paused  again  at  the  door,  speak 
ing,  with  kindly  condescension,  to  a  mother 
who  had  brought  her  baby  to  church  with  her, 
its  little  bekerchiefed  head  sticking  out  of  the 
folds  of  her  schuba. 

The  avenue  had  been  swept  free  of  snow, 
and  the  Princess,  a  graceful,  fair-faced  woman, 
walked  slowly  up  the  path,  looking  idly  at  the 
snow-hung  trees  above  her.  Even  the  little 
twigs  carried  each  a  frozen  load,  which  the 
wind  rocked  to  and  fro  heavily. 

Suddenly  the  Princess  started  and  looked 
down. 

A  flying  figure  had  darted  noiselessly  across 
the  snow,  and  now  lay  on  the  ground  before  her. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  said  the  Princess,  gently,  "  and 
what  do  you  wish  ?  Ah,  I  remember  your 
name  now.  It  is  Neila.  What  do  you  mean  by 
this,  my  girl  ?" 

Neila  rose  to  her  knees  and  humbly  kissed 
the  white  hand  extended  to  her. 
227 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Will  your  Excellency  ever  pardon  me  ?  It 
was  the  holy  image  that  belongs  to  you  that 
sent  me  to  you.  I  was  kneeling  in  the  church, 
striking  the  ground  with  my  forehead  in  my 
grief,  when  I  caught  sight  of  it,  with  the  beauti 
ful  shining  stones  hanging  all  about  it,  and  I 
remembered  that  when  the  Barin  was  talking 
with  Death  even,  the  pope  had  only  to  carry 
the  image  to  his  bedside  and  he  was  cured, 
and  then  I  prayed  to  it — ah,  how  I  prayed  ! — 
and  then  the  thought  came  to  me  quickly,  '  Go 
to  the  Princess,'  and  so  I  have  come.  I  have 
not  stopped  for  a  moment.  If  your  Highness 
will  only  deign  to  help  me  !" 

"  What  is  your  trouble,  Neila  ?"  asked  the 
Princess,  gravely.  "  Stand  up  and  tell  me.  Is 
it  one  where  I  can  help  you  ?" 

Neila  blushed  and  hung  her  head.  The 
Princess  encouraged  her  kindly. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  speak  now.  You 
may  walk  by  my  side  to  the  house ;  but,  first, 
have  you  asked  advice  from  the  pope  ?" 

"  The  pope,  your  Excellency  !"  Neila's  lips 
opened,  and  the  story  of  her  troubles  rushed 
forth :  Trophime's  ill  faith — her  father's  cruelty 
— Mitia's  love.  "  And  for  the  pope,"  she  ended, 
bitterly,  "  first,  your  Excellency,  he  has  asked 
Mitia  what  fee  he  could  offer  for  marrying  us, 
and  Mitia  has  nothing.  Then  he  has  said  that 
without  my  father's  consent  he  will  not  marry 
us,  for  it  would  be  wrong." 
228 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

The  Princess  turned  away  her  head.  Her 
short  upper  lip  curled  irresistibly.  She  did 
not  herself  love  the  little  father. 

"  He  is  your  pope,  Neila,"  she  said,  reprov 
ingly,  "and  your  father  is  your  father.  He 
has  the  right  to  your  obedience." 

Neila  bowed  her  head  respectfully.  She  was 
watching  the  gentle,  thoughtful  face  and  the 
slow-moving  figure  intently. 

"And  are  you  sure  that  you  really  love  Mitia, 
my  child !" 

Neila's  shyness  returned.  She  burrowed 
into  her  schuba  until  little  but  her  reddened 
brow  was  visible. 

"  Eli-heh"  (yes),  she  replied,  in  a  smothered 
voice. 

The  Princess  smiled.  Her  own  marriage 
was  a  love-match. 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  will  send  for 
your  father,  and  will  myself  speak  to  him  for 
you.  You  may  go  now." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  smiled  again  as 
Neila  covered  the  jewelled  fingers  with  passion 
ately  grateful  kisses. 

There  was  not  a  year's  difference  in  the  ages 
of  the  two  women  ;  both  were  beauty's  daugh 
ters,  and  both  had  learned  their  own  hearts. 
But  those  were  the  only  points  in  common. 
In  reality  they  were  as  far  apart  as  the  cold 
North  and  the  warm  South. 

Perhaps  the  suggestion  of  such  a  thought 
229 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

visited  the  mind  of  the  Princess  as  she  stood 
watching  the  girl's  light  figure  walking  easily 
down  the  path  despite  her  heavily  booted  feet. 
Still  thoughtful,  she  moved  to  the  house  and 
dispatched  a  messenger  for  the  head  herds 
man,  bidding  him  come  to  her  in  the  avenue, 
where  she  continued  her  walk. 

The  summons  reached  Anton  in  his  isba, 
and  he  listened  with  respectful  surprise,  but 
his  piercing  eyes  rested  on  his  daughter  with 
instant  suspicion.  Nevertheless  the  event  was 
an  honor,  and  he  appeared  before  his  mistress 
weighed  down  with  servility. 

The  Princess  cut  his  salutation  short. 

"Anton,  I  hear  that  you  are  forcing  your 
daughter  to  marry  a  man  from  another  village. 
Have  you  had  opportunity  to  know  him?" 

Anton  again  bowed  himself  before  her. 

"Your  Highness  is  too  good  to  take  this  in 
terest  in  our  humble  affairs,"  he  said,  slowly. 

The  Princess  continued : 

"  Are  you  sure  that  this  stranger  is  a  good 
man  ?" 

"  He  is  a  thrifty  moujik,  your  Highness,  and 
he  has  no  family  to  speak  of.  He  will  make 
me  a  good  son  in  my  old  age — I,  who  have  only 
a  daughter." 

"But  will  he  make  your  daughter  happy, 
Anton  ?" 

Anton  dropped  further  pretences.  It  was 
evident  that  his  mistress  knew  all. 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

"  Your  Highness,  it  is  time  the  girl  married, 
and  that  Mitia  has  nothing  to  offer  her,  nor 
can  he  have  anything  until  the  next  harvest, 
and  the  good  God  above  knows  what  may 
happen  by  that  time  !" 

"Anton,  Trophime  cannot  be  a  nice  peasant 
to  force  the  poor  girl  into  marrying  him  in  this 
way.  He  will  make  a  bad  husband,  and  your 
child  will  be  miserable." 

Anton  took  off  his  fur  cap  and  scratched  his 
matted  hair  before  he  answered. 

"  Every  man  has  his  way  of  courting  a  girl, 
your  Highness.  She  will  get  used  to  Tro- 
phime's  way.  Girls  must  not  have  their  own 
heads  too  much ;  they  must  abide  by  their 
father's  word  ;  and  your  Highness  knows  well 
that  peasant  girls  cannot  let  a  comfortable  two- 
room  isba  and  a  rich  bit  of  land  slip  through 
their  ringers  for  nothing.  That  is  not  offered 
every  day." 

"  And  the  pope,  have  you  spoken  to  him  ? 
Does  he  approve  this,  Anton  ?" 

Anton  wet  his  lips  with  his  tongue,  and 
spread  out  his  short  hands  deprecatingly. 

"  He  knows  how  it  is  with  us  poor  peasants, 
your  Highness,"  he  said,  with  elaborate  inno 
cence.  "  He  will  approve  when  he  understands 
all.  Mitia  is  a  beggar.  Trophime  can  give  twice 
the  corn  and  potatoes  that  Mitia  could  give  as  a 
marriage  fee.  But  if  your  Highness  disapproves, 
it  is  enough.  Your  Highness  has  but  to  speak." 
231 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

The  old  man  bowed  low  again.  The  Princess 
hesitated.  What  she  had  already  done  was 
without  precedent,  and  opened  a  wide  door. 
Anton  was  only  following  the  peasant  rule  of 
life.  Neila's  story  had  been  that  of  hundreds 
of  others,  and  would  be  again.  None  ever 
dreamed  of  enlisting  the  sympathy  of  the 
Princess.  They  all  submitted — was  it  not  the 
custom ! 

Anton  was  watching  his  mistress  keenly  be 
tween  his  protestations  and  prostrations.  He 
knew  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  Paternal 
authority  was  a  creed  not  to  be  lightly  over 
turned.  The  Princess  moved  away,  waving  her 
hand  in  haughty  dismissal. 

"  It  is  on  your  own  head,  Anton,"  she  said, 
sternly. 

Anton  raised  his  bowed  figure  and  looked 
after  her,  laughing  in  his  beard.  Even  the 
Princess  had  her  limitations,  and  recognized 
them.  Custom  was  custom,  and  iron  to  high 
or  low. 

On  Christmas  Day  Mitia  and  Neila  met  once 
more  in  the  field  where  they  had  first  ex 
changed  their  vows.  They  walked  hand  in 
hand,  leaning  against  each  other.  Neila's  face 
was  white  and  tear-stained,  Mitia's  gloomy  and 
drawn. 

"  God  will  not  let  it  be,  Mitia,"  Neila  was  say 
ing.     "  I  have  prayed  and  prayed  my  heart  out 
to  Him.     Something  will  happen  yet." 
232 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Mitia  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  God  wills  it  to  be  so,  Neila.  He  will 
not  let  the  pope  help  us,  nor  the  Princess. 
What  can  we  do  ?  When  misfortune  enters, 
throw  the  door  wide  open." 

"  God  is  good,  Mitia.  Trophime  may  not 
come." 

"  He  will  come — and  then,  Neila — " 

Neila  shuddered. 

"  Mitia,  if  he  comes,  thou  wilt  promise  me  one 
thing — thou  wilt  not  follow  us  to  the  church." 

Mitia  struck  his  hand  violently  on  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  by  which  they  had  paused.  He 
muttered  a  curse  under  his  breath  ;  his  eyes 
turned  desperately  about  him  over  the  land 
scape,  a  frozen  plain.  Did  they  steal  away  to 
gether,  where  could. they  go,  to  what,  and  with 
what  means.  There  was  no  escape. 

"  May  God  kill  him  like  a  wolf  !"  he  cried, 
savagely  ;  "  and  He  will.  I  pray  for  it  night 
and  day." 

Neila  crossed  herself  hurriedly.  She  laid  her 
fingers  on  Mitia's  lips. 

"  May  God  forgive  thee,  Mitia  !  What  art 
thou  saying?" 

"  The  truth  only,  Neila.  I  will  work  my 
fingers  to  the  bone.  I  will  never  marry.  Re 
member,  I  shall  be  always  waiting  for  thee,  and 
always  ready." 

Neila's  answer  was  a  new  outbreak  of  grief. 
One  by  one  their  plans  had  failed,  and  they 
233 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

walked  on  over  the  frozen  field  supporting  and 
consoling  each  other  with  vague  hopes,  which 
each  knew  had  no  foundation. 

The  day  after  Christmas,  punctual  to  the 
appointed  hour,  Trophime  drove  into  the  vil 
lage  dressed  in  his  new  schuba,  belted  in  at  the 
waist  with  a  bright  green  scarf.  The  sledge 
in  which  he  rode  and  the  horse  which  drew  it 
were  both  his  own.  He  stood  up,  driving  him 
self.  When  he  reached  Anton's  hut  he  flung 
the  reins  on  the  horse's  back,  and,  descending, 
rapped  loudly. 

Anton  himself  opened  the  door  and  came 
out. 

"  Is  it  you  ?"  he  said.  "  You  are  in  good 
time,  and  welcome." 

He  was  followed  by  the  nuptial  godfather 
(the  master  of  ceremonies),  who,  after  exchang 
ing  greeting  with  the  groom,  at  once  took  pos 
session  of  him  and  drove  him  in  the  sledge  to 
the  church.  Anton  stood  looking  after  them, 
until  some  girls  who  were  passing  pointed  at 
him  and  whispered  indignantly  together.  Then 
he  turned  and  re-entered  the  hut. 

No  one  had  seen  Neila  since  the  day  before. 
The  door  of  the  isba  had  been  bolted  from  the 
early  morning,  and  only  the  nuptial  godmother 
(the  mistress  of  ceremonies)  had  been  allowed 
to  enter.  Anton  walked  into  the  inner  room, 
where  the  nuptial  godmother  was  putting  the 
234 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

finishing  touches  to  a  wreath  of  paper  roses  on 
the  bride's  hair.  She  had  dressed  Neila  in  all 
her  finery,  her  beads  and  ribbons  and  red-top 
boots,  unassisted  and  unhindered. 

Nastasia  was  rocking  her  withered  body  to 
and  fro  in  the  corner,  but  the  girl  herself  sat 
like  a  stone. 

"  Come,"  said  Anton,  shortly.  "  Trophime 
has  gone  to  the  church." 

The  nuptial  godmother  helped  Neila  to  her 
feet  and  led  her  from  the  hut.  Anton  and 
Nastasia  followed  behind  them.  Neila  moved 
on  slowly,  her  eyes  fixed  before  her.  When  she 
entered  the  church  she  glanced  about  her  once 
fearfully,  as  if  seeking  some  one,  and  then  sank 
into  apathy  again. 

Trophime  had  met  her  at  the  door,  but  she 
had  not  looked  at  him.  He  stood  by  her  side 
at  a  table  set  below  the  altar.  On  it  the  priest's 
cross  and  books  lay  ready.  As  the  door  of  the 
Holy  of  Holies  opened,  the  congregation  pros 
trated  themselves.  The  priest  entered  and 
moved  towards  the  bridal  party  at  the  table 
and  began  the  ceremony.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  two  of  the  young  peasants  came  forward 
with  the  silver  marriage-crowns,  holding  them 
high  above  the  heads  of  the  bride  and  groom. 
It  was  then  only  that  Neila  seemed  to  rouse 
for  a  moment  from  her  trance  of  despair.  She 
shrank  from  under  the  crown  and  again  pros 
trated  herself  on  the  floor  before  the  priest.  The 
235 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

ceremony  went  on  monotonously,  and  she  rose 
again  as  she  had  fallen.  She  followed  the  ser 
vice  through,  blindly,  a  mere  automaton.  With 
a  scarf  twisted  about  her  wrist,  binding  it  to 
Trophime's,  she  was  led  three  times  around  the 
table  by  the  pope.  Trophime  placed  a  silver 
ring  on  her  ringer,  she  kissed  the  cross  extended 
to  her,  and  she  and  Trophime  were  man  and 
wife. 

"  Neila  will  have  her  white  veil,"  whispered 
Masha,  to  her  companions  ;  "  no  girl  in  the  vil 
lage  has  been  more  virtuous,  but  I  could  al 
most  wish  the  nuptial  godmother  would  deny 
it  to  her.  Then  we  should  see  old  Anton  dis 
graced.  It  would  be  fine  to  see  him  driven 
through  the  village  with  a  halter  about  his 
neck,  if  they  would  let  poor  Nastasia  off.  Ah, 
but  I  would  help  to  scoff  at  him,  brute  that 
he  is!" 

Brandy  and  gingerbread  were  set  out  in 
plenty  in  Anton's  isba,  but  with  this  spirit  in 
the  air  towards  the  host,  and  with  the  bride 
sitting  like  a  statue  in  the  corner  under  the 
image  of  the  patron  saint,  not  even  replying 
when  spoken  to,  appetite  was  lacking.  It  was 
customary  and  proper  for  a  bride  to  weep,  but 
this  was  something  else. 

One  by  one  the  guests  dropped  away,  and  the 
wedding  party  was  left  to  make  merry  alone, 
with  what  merriment  they  had.    Trophime  rose 
and  stood  before  Neila. 
236 


IT  IS  THE   CUSTOM 

"  What  has  my  wife  to  say  to  me  before  I  go  ?" 
he  asked. 

Neila's  eyes  darkened.  She  looked  at  him  in 
silence.  Trophime  was  about  to  seat  himself 
beside  her,  but  Anton  drew  him  away. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "why  should  you  talk  with 
a  woman  ?  Let  her  be.  When  you  come  back 
for  her  at  the  week's  end  you  may  do  as  you 
choose  ;  but  now,  if  you  wish  to  be  home  before 
morning,  you  had  best  be  starting  out." 

Trophime  withdrew  reluctantly.  As  he  look 
ed  back  again  from  the  door  Anton  laughed  at 
him  loudly.  "  Your  turn  will  come,"  he  said, 
pushing  his  son-in-law  before  him.  "  Come,  to 
your  sledge  with  you,  and  home.  In  a  week 
I  shall  expect  you  to  fetch  her." 

During  this  last  week  in  her  father's  home, 
no  one  in  the  village  saw  Neila's  face.  She 
shut  herself  in  the  inner  room  of  the  isba,  and 
would  not  be  comforted.  As  for  Mitia,  he  had 
disappeared  from  the  village  on  the  morning  of 
the  wedding,  and  his  whereabouts  were  not 
known. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  when  his  son-in-law 
came  driving  into  the  village  again,  Anton, 
angered  at  the  failure  of  the  wedding  feast, 
would  make  no  second  attempt  at  a  merry 
making,  but  a  few  of  the  more  curious  peasants 
straggled  into  the  isba,  unasked  and  unwel- 
comed.  Trophime  left  his  sledge  standing  at 
the  door  while  he  hurried  through  the  final  cer- 
237 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

emonies,  pouring  a  handful  of  copper  coins  on 
the  table,  and  setting  beside  them  a  loaf  of 
black  bread  and  a  dish  of  salt.  He  glanced 
eagerly  about  the  room,  but  Neila  had  not  yet 
appeared  and  Nastasia  was  absent  also. 

The  sound  of  a  woman's  weeping  came  from 
the  inner  room. 

The  dislike  and  curiosity  in  the  faces  about 
him  irritated  Trophime. 

"  There  is  the  price  of  my  wife,  and  there  lie 
my  witnesses  that  I  will  support  her,  and  her 
parents  too,  if  need  be,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  Now  for  your  part,  Anton." 

Anton  rose  in  silence  and  went  to  the  inner 
door.  As  the  nuptial  godmother  appeared 
leading  Neila,  whose  face  was  buried  in  her 
hands,  a  murmur  of  sympathy  ran  around  the 
room.  Anton  attempted  to  carry  off  the  scene 
with  a  high  hand. 

"  That  is  well,"  he  said,  loudly.  "  It  would 
be  a  disgrace  for  a  girl  to  leave  her  father's 
house  laughing.  Take  her,  Trophime." 

He  flung  open  the  door  as  he  spoke.  Tro 
phime  stepped  forward  and  set  his  powerful 
hands  on  the  waist  of  the  weeping  girl.  He 
lifted  her  from  the  floor  and  swung  her  into 
his  sledge  as  lightly  as  he  might  have  lifted  a 
child. 

"  There's  a  man  for  you  !"  said  Anton,  look 
ing  around. 

In  spite  of  himself  his  voice  was  defiant. 
238 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Neila's  bowed  head  fell  against  the  side  of  the 
sledge.  Her  hands  were  still  clasped  to  her 
face,  and  the  tears  dropped  through  her  fin 
gers.  The  nuptial  godmother  climbed  into  the 
sledge  beside  Trophime. 

Anton  threw  two  patron  images,  which  the 
pope  had  previously  blessed  for  him,  into  her 
lap.  He  had  provided  these  for  the  home  of 
the  new  couple,  as  a  pious  parent  should. 

Trophime  jerked  the  reins,  and  they  slid 
rapidly  out  of  the  village. 

The  Princess  was  walking  in  the  village 
street,  talking  with  her  husband,  on  whose 
arm  she  leaned,  when  the  sledge  passed  them. 

Trophime  and  the  nuptial  godmother  both 
saluted  respectfully,  but  the  Princess  did  not 
respond.  She  had  seen  beyond  them  a  beauti 
ful  tear-stained  face,  and  two  helpless,  implor 
ing  hands  that  were  stretched  out  towards  her. 
She  pressed  her  husband's  arm  and  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  pity. 

"  Oh,  see,  my  husband,  it  is  poor  Neila  !  I 
told  you  her  story." 

The  Prince  glanced  after  the  sledge  indiffer 
ently.  . 

"  It  is  the  custom,"  he  replied,  with  a  slight 
shrug.  "  She  will  accept  it  by  to-morrow." 

He  drew  his  wife  with  him  down  the  road, 
and  returned  to  their  interrupted  subject  ; 
but  the  Princess,  looking  back  over  her  shoul 
der,  did  not  hear  him,  and  Neila's  last  vision 
239 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

in  the  village  where  she  left  her  girl  life  was 
the  pitying  face  that  watched  her  until  out  of 
sight. 

The  next  day  even  the  nuptial  godmother 
deserted  her,  for,  having  settled  her  charge  in 
her  husband's  home,  her  task  was  over,  and 
she  returned  to  Evanovka. 

Neila  was  left  alone  with  Trophime  and  his 
father  and  her  new  duties. 

"  She  is  a  fine  wife  for  you,  Trophime,"  said 
the  old  father,  after  a  few  days  of  trial.  "  You 
have  chosen  well.  She  has  been  with  us  but  a 
little  while,  and  the  isba  is  as  clean  as  the  snow 
when  it  falls;  and  for  her  cooking — !" 

The  old  man  smacked  his  lips.  He  loved  his 
creature  comforts,  and  his  wife  had  been  dead 
a  year. 

"  Yes,  you  have  done  well,"  he  repeated. 
"  She  is  a  good  girl,  too  The  pope  gave  her 
the  white  veil  at  the  church  to-day." 

Trophime  shook  his  head.  He  was  not  so 
satisfied.  He  went  into  the  hut  and  left  the 
old  man  sitting  on  the  bench  outside. 

Neila,  with  the  white  veil  of  purity  still  on 
her  hair,  which  was  now  coiled  close  as  a  mar 
ried  woman's,  was  sitting  by  the  table,  her 
head  resting  in  her  arms.  Trophime  went  up 
to  her,  frowning.  As  he  touched  her  shoulder 
she  raised  her  head,  but  did  not  speak.  She 
drew  a  bowl  of  potatoes  towards  her  and  be 
gan  to  prepare  them  for  cooking.  Trophime 
240 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

stood  looking  at  her,  still  frowning.  Neila's 
face  had  altered  in  those  few  days. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  said,  harshly.  "  What  are 
you  fretting  for  ?  You  have  more  than  any 
girl  in  Evanovka,  or  Ragazan  either,  for  that." 

Neila  glanced  around  the  comfortable  isba 
indifferently. 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be,"  she  answered, 
listlessly. 

Trophime  sneered. 

"  So  that  is  it.  You  would  rather  live  in  a 
rabbit-warren  ?" 

Neila's  eyes  flashed.  He  knew  how  to  rouse 
her.  "  Then  I  might  be  able  to  breathe,"  she 
muttered  ;  "  here  I  am  choked  and  smothered." 

She  moved  her  hands  as  if  pushing  away  the 
walls  about  her.  Trophime  advanced  towards 
her  threateningly. 

"  Have  a  care  !"  he  said,  warningly.  "  Thou 
swimmest  in  shallow  waters." 

Neila  rose  to  her  feet  before  him.  She 
spread  out  her  arms. 

"  Strike  !"  she  cried,  passionately.  "  Beat 
me  to  death.  Then  I  might  breathe." 

Trophime  lifted  his  hand,  advancing  yet 
nearer.  She  stood  unwincing,  her  eyes  defy 
ing  him.  With  a  quick  movement,  before  she 
realized  his  intention,  Trophime,  laughing 
loudly,  flung  his  arms  about  her. 

"Aha  !  my  wild  hawk,  I  know  how  to  tame 
you.  What  !  must  a  husband  fight  for  a  kiss?" 
Q  241 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Neila  struggled  violently. 

"  Let  me  go  !"  she  panted.  "  Let  me  go  be 
fore  I  kill  you !" 

From  the  doorway  the  old  man  laughed  a 
dry,  cackling  laugh. 

"Fighting  already !"  he  wheezed,  in  his  crack 
ed,  high  voice.  "  Does  a  peasant  girl  love  her 
man  until  he  beats  her  ?  No." 

Trophime  again  laughed  loudly. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?  Mother  of  God  !  how 
strong  my  wife  is  !  Have  done,  I  tell  you  !" 

"What  did  I  say?"  croaked  the  old  man. 

He  was  a  Little  Russian  moujik,  and  had  his 
own  ideas  of  humor.  "  Beat  her,  Trophime, 
and  she  will  kiss  your  boots." 

Trophime  raised  his  hand,  still  laughing  bois 
terously.  He  struck  Neila  a  sharp  blow  on  the 
arm,  and  she  ceased  struggling  instantly. 

"  That  fetches  love,  does  it  ?"  said  Trophime, 
triumphantly.  He  bent  his  face  to  hers  as  he 
spoke,  but  with  the  same  unexpected  vehe 
mence  with  which  she  had  repulsed  his  first 
kiss  at  that  fatal  meeting  in  the  isba,  Neila 
placed  her  hands  on  his  breast,  thrust  him 
staggering  from  her,  and  fled  from  the  door. 

At  the  back  of  the  town  grew  a  thick  wood, 
pierced  by  a  path  which  led  through  it  wind- 
ingly.  It  was.into  this  refuge  that  the  flying 
figure  plunged.  She  ran  like  the  wind — any 
where,  so  that  it  was  away  from  the  hated  isba 
and  Trophime. 

242 


There  was  no  pursuit  ;  she  did  not  expect  it. 
Trophime  knew  as  well  as  she  that  every  fly 
ing  step  must  be  retraced.  Yet  Neila  ran  on 
and  on,  her  white  veil  fluttering  in  the  wind. 
The  sharp  report  of  a  gun  and  the  sharper 
cry  of  animal  pain  checked  her  suddenly.  In 
the  path,  almost  at  her  feet,  lay  a  brown  hare, 
its  limbs  twitching  in  death.  A  man's  figure 
broke  from  the  brushwood  at  the  side  of  the 
path  and  came  towards  her. 

It  was  Mitia. 

His  gun  fell  from  his  hand,  he  stretched  out 
his  arms,  and  with  a  cry  like  that  of  the 
wounded  hare  Neila  flung  herself  on  his 
breast. 

Mitia  spoke  first.  His  face  was  as  altered  as 
her  own. 

"  I  have  found  work  on  a  farm  not  a  verst 
away."  His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  "  Neila, 
how  is  it  with  thee  ?" 

Neila  withdrew  herself  from  his  clasp,  her 
face  inflamed  with  fury.  She  struck  back  the 
sleeve  from  her  arm  with  a  passionate  gesture 
and  held  it  towards  him.  The  arm  above  the 
elbow  was  bruised  and  angry.  Mitia  caught 
her  back  to  him,  uttering  a  stifled  cry. 

His  arms  trembled  as  they  held  her,  drawing 
her  closer  to  him. 

The  white  veil,  loosened  from  its  fastenings, 
fluttered  from  her  head  to  the  ground,  where 
the  blood  of  the  hare  stained  and  soiled  it. 
243 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  I  hate  him  !"  she  whispered,  fiercely.  "  God 
in  heaven  !  I  hate  him  !" 

Alas  !  Undisciplined,  half-civilized,  unmoral 
rather  than  immoral,  could  there  be  but  one 
ending  ?  The  whispers  which  soon  crept  about 
the  village  became  open  rumor,  the  rumor  cer 
tainty,  and  popular  sympathy  was  with  Mitia 
and  Neila. 

There  were  some  who  believed  that  Trophime 
might  have  made  a  good  husband  had  that  been 
permitted  him  ;  however  it  may  have  been, 
curses  and  blows  seemed  to  render  Neila  but 
more  openly  reckless. 

In  the  Greek  Church  divorce  is  not  allowed ; 
however  wronged  the  husband,  however  guilty 
the  wife,  they  must  live  out  their  lives  —  the 
mockery  of  a  unit. 

One  cold  day  in  the  following  autumn,  as 
old  Anton  stood  in  his  doorway,  he  saw  a  wom 
an's  figure  come  toiling  over  the  snow  tow 
ards  the  isba.  She  did  not  speak,  but  fell  on 
her  knees  before  him,  with  trembling,  uplifted 
hands. 

It  was  Neila.  She  had  walked  over  the  thir 
teen  versts  from  Ragazan  alone  and  through 
the  snow.  Was  this  the  same  Neila  who  had 
left  that  door  not  a  year  before  ?  Anton  had 
not  recognized  her. 

"  Back  you  shall  go  !"  he  cried,  furiously. 
"  Myself,  I  will  throw  you  in  the  cart  and  drive 
you  back." 

244 


IT  IS  THE  CUSTOM 

Neila  did  not  reply.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
shuddered. 

Nastasia  came  out  from  the  hut  and  whis 
pered  entreatingly  to  Anton. 

She  lifted  her  child  from  the  snow  and  led 
her  in. 

That  night  Neila's  child  was  born. 

God  is  very  merciful.  When  the  spirit  is 
high  and  will  not  bend  or  break,  however 
bruised  and  tortured  by  man,  He  will  often 
render  the  body  frail,  and  open  a  way  by  which 
the  overtaxed  soul  may  escape. 

With  the  morning,  the  whole  village  knew 
that  Neila  lay  dying  in  her  father's  isba.  Word 
was  sent  to  the  other  village,  but  Trophime 
did  not  come. 

Later  in  the  day,  Mitia  crept  into  the  room 
and  sat  by  the  bedside,  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands.  He  had  run  over  the  thirteen  versts 
which  Neila  had  toiled  through  the  day  before, 
and  he  was  in  time. 

"  Let  them  be,"  whispered  Nastasia ;  "  what 
harm  now  ?" 

But  Anton,  shaking  his  head  obstinately,  laid 
a  rough  hand  on  Mitia's  shoulder  and  pointed 
to  the  door.  The  young  peasant  raised  his 
face  for  a  moment — and  Anton  moved  away 
from  him  into  the  outer  room. 

Mitia  did  not  stir  from  the  bedside. 

When  the  end  came,  Neila's  last  breath  was 
breathed  in  his  arms  ;  her  eyes  were  set  on  his 
245 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

face.  Mitia  laid  her  back  on  the  sheepskins 
and  staggered  from  the  door. 

He  stood  before  old  Anton  and  spoke  thickly. 

"Anton,  if  you  and  Nastasia  will  keep  the 
child,  I  will  pay  you  for  it.  Is  it  agreed  ?" 

"  It  is  agreed,"  Anton  answered.  He  knew 
then  that  all  was  over. 

When  the  funeral  procession  wound  through 
the  fields  it  was  followed  by  all  the  village, 
and  Trophime  was  walking  after  the  coffin  as 
chief  mourner  ;  but  it  was  on  Mitia  that  all 
eyes  were  turned  with  sympathy,  and  Tro 
phime  was  looked  at  askance. 

He  saw,  and  resented  sullenly.  When  the 
poor  body  was  prepared  for  burial,  marks  had 
been  found  upon  it  as  damning  to  the  husband 
as  the  writing  on  the  wall. 

With  no  word  spoken  to  him,  and  himself 
speaking  to  no  one,  Trophime  mounted  his 
cart  and  drove  to  his  home. 

There  he  married  shortly  after,  with  little 
trouble. 

Mitia  has  never  married.  Broken  and  old 
at  twenty,  he  lives,  but  lives  only  to  minister 
to  the  wants  of  Neila's  mother  and  Neila's 
child. 

Thus  the  story  of  Neila  ends,  to  be  forgotten 
in  time  among  a  hundred  others  more  or  less 
similar. 

246 


SALT  OF  THE   EARTH 

AND  so,  sister  dear,  you  want  to  hear  the 
whole  story  of  our  boy  Hal  and  Wilhelmina  ? 
I  don't  see  why  I  should  not  tell  it  to  you,  as 
the  years  when  it  hurt  us  all  are  far  behind. 
For  a  long  time  I  couldn't  even  think  of  it 
with  any  composure,  but  now — if  I  had  known 
that  I  should  ever  feel  able  to  tell  the  whole 
history  to  you,  actually  smiling  over  parts  of 
it,  I  suppose  I  should  have  felt  less  bitterly  at 
the  time.  And  yet  I  don't  know.  It  never 
comforted  me  very  much,  when  a  child,  to  be 
told  that  a  cut  finger  wouldn't  be  hurting  by 
the  time  I  was  twice  married.  Pain  is  pain. 
While  it  lasts  it  hurts,  even  if  you  do  forget 
some  of  the  pangs  by  to-morrow. 

In  the  case  of  Hal  and  Wilhelmina,  I  was 
doubly  distressed  by  the  miserable  feeling  that 
I  had,  as  it  were,  cut  my  own  finger ;  and  you 
know  to  be  suffering  with  only  yourself  to 
blame  makes  everything  just  so  much  harder 
to  bear. 

Of  course,  though  you  have  never  heard  all 
the  story,  you  know  that  Wilhelmina  was,  at 
247 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

one  period,  our  cook.  Time  does  much  for  us, 
my  dear,  but  it  cannot  and  does  not  spare  me 
a  pang  as  I  make  this  plain  statement.  Yes, 
she  was  our  cook  ;  and  while  my  share  of  the 
blame  came  later,  the  engaging  of  Wilhelmina 
Schroder  as  a  servant  of  our  house  seemed  at 
the  time  the  right  thing  to  do.  It  came  about 
in  this  wise  : 

Wilhelmina's  father  was  a  plain,  thrifty,  Ger 
man  farmer.  He  lived  up  the  county  road  on 
his  own  farm  quite  prosperously  until  he  in 
dorsed  a  note  for  a  friend.  The  friend  failed, 
and  Schroder  was  called  upon  to  pay  heav 
ily.  The  first  thing  he  did  on  hearing  this 
bad  news  was  to  drive  down  to  our  farm  and 
ask  counsel  of  my  dear  husband  ;  for,  as  you 
know,  everybody  in  the  county  comes  to  him 
for  advice  when  in  trouble.  Schroder  wanted 
to  mortgage  his  farm  and  work  off  the  claim 
by  degrees,  but  my  husband  does  not  believe 
in  mortgages. 

"Make  your  sacrifice  now,  Schroder,"  he 
said  ;  "  don't  think  of  mortgaging.  You  will 
never  catch  up  with  life  again  if  you  do.  Sell, 
and  buy  a  smaller  house  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  can  then  hire  out  yourself 
and  your  team  by  the  day.  Don't  spend  the 
little  capital  you  have." 

I  was  afraid  he  might  have  offended  Schro 
der  by  suggesting  that  he  should  work  as  a 
hired  man  ;  but  my  husband  said  that  Schro- 
248 


SALT  OF  THE   EARTH 

der  was  too  sensible  for  that,  and  so  it  proved. 
Within  a  week  he  had  moved  into  a  little 
house  not  far  away  from  us,  and  not  only 
was  he  at  work  himself,  but  we  heard  that  his 
three  daughters  were  also  looking  for  what 
they  called  "service  places."  Schroder  had 
no  sons. 

As  it  happened,  shortly  after  Schroder's  vis 
it  I  received  a  letter  from  my  Mary,  telling  me 
that  she  and  her  children  were  coming  to  stay 
with  us  for  a  time  ;  and  the  very  day  the  letter 
came  my  cook  gave  warning. 

When  the  cook  gives  warning  in  the  country, 
you  know  what  that  means.  I  felt  quite  dis 
tracted. 

Then  I  thought  of  Schroder's  girls,  and  won 
dered  if  one  of  them  would  answer  as  a  cook. 
When  I  suggested  this  plan  to  my  husband, 
his  amendment  was  that  we  should  take  all 
three  of  them  into  our  service. 

"As  they  have  never  lived  out  before,  it 
would  be  easier  for  them  to  start  together,"  he 
said.  "  Our  second  girl  has  been  unsatisfac 
tory  ;  send  her  away,  and  turn  over  the  whole 
establishment  to  the  Schroders." 

"  That  would  mean  taking  an  extra  woman," 
I  said  ;  "can  you  spare  the  money  ?" 

"  Better  than  Schroder  can,"  said  my  hus 
band,  laughing ;  "  and,  besides,  you  won't  find 
three  women  any  too  many  after  Mary's  chil 
dren  come." 

249 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

So  it  was  settled,  and  my  husband  drove 
down  to  the  little  house,  engaging  the  three 
girls  that  same  afternoon.  They  were  very 
glad  to  come,  and  I  to  have  them.  In  fact,  I 
was  never  so  comfortable  in  all  my  house-keep 
ing  as  when  I  had  those  girls  with  me — Wil- 
helmina  as  cook,  and  her  sisters  working  about 
the  house.  They  had  been  splendidly  taught. 
I  really  had  to  raise  my  own  standards  of 
cleanliness  to  meet  theirs,  and  pretend  that  I 
was  used  to  the  furniture  being  moved  out  and 
swept  under,  in  place  of  being  only  swept  up 
to — you  know  what  that  means.  My  husband 
says  I  actually  cried  when  Mr.  Schroder  came 
over  some  months  later  and  very  abruptly 
took  his  girls  away  from  me.  He  was  "on 
his  feet  again,"  he  said,  and  able  to  keep  his 
daughters  at  home,  where  their  mother,  who 
was  ill,  needed  their  services.  I  have  never  seen 
Mr.  Schroder  but  that  one  time.  He  talked 
with  a  strong  accent,  and  was  a  round-faced, 
honest  -  looking  Dutchman,  with  large,  rumi 
nating,  blue  eyes.  Wilhelmina  inherits  her  eyes 
from  her  father,  but  not  her  beauty  —  that 
comes  to  her  from  her  mother,  whom  I  never 
saw  but  once  either.  She  chanced  to  hear  one 
day  that  Wilhelmina  had  hurt  her  finger  and 
so  could  not  milk  the  cows,  which  was  one  of 
her  duties,  and  her  pleasure  as  well.  Neither 
of  the  other  girls  understood  milking.  Know 
ing  this,  Mrs.  Schroder  came  over,  very  kindly 
250 


SALT  OF  THE   EARTH 

offering  to  help  us  by  undertaking  the  milking 
herself.  She  proved  a  beautiful  milker,  my 
husband  said,  and  I  could  see  that  she  had 
been  a  remarkably  pretty  woman,  but  had 
grown  stout  and  heavy  and  stupid.  That  is 
the  only  time  I  ever  saw  her  closely.  Even 
then  I  was  glad  to  note  that  Wilhelmina  had 
not  the  same  tendency  to  heaviness,  though  I 
almost  believed  her  beauty  could  stand  a 
greater  handicap. 

So  much  did  I  admire  her  that,  while  she 
was  with  me  in  the  capacity  of  cook,  I  was  so 
foolish  as  to  find  excuses  for  myself  to  visit 
the  kitchen.  She  did  look  so  pretty  at  her 
work.  You  know,  dear,  what  a  weakness  I 
have  always  had  for  beauty.  You  remember 
how  long  I  bore  with  a  certain  other  cook,  the 
one  who  drank,  just  because  she  had  such  a 
pretty  face.  It  was  the  same  way  with  Wil 
helmina.  I  don't  mean  that  there  was  any 
reason  for  dissatisfaction  with  her,  for  she  was 
a  treasure  in  every  way.  Indeed,  she  had  and 
still  has  a  lighter  hand  for  pastry  and  cake 
than  I  myself.  I  loved  to  watch  her,  with  her 
sleeves  rolled  up  to  her  pretty  white  elbows, 
kneading  dough  or  sweeping,  with  her  light 
curly  hair  twisting  out  from  under  her  mob- 
cap,  her  blue  eyes  earnest  as  if  she  were  always 
saying  her  prayers. 

I  shouldn't  have  felt  blameworthy  if  I  had 
kept  my  admiration  of  Wilhelmina  to  myself, 
251 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

but  my  old  tongue  was  so  long,  what  must  I 
do  but  prate  of  her  beauty  to  others  ! 

I  told  you  it  was  her  duty  to  milk  the  cows  ; 
and  she  had  a  healthy  farmer's-daughter  en 
joyment  of  the  barn-yard.  I  used  to  note  the 
little  added  spring  in  her  gait  when  she  stepped 
from  the  kitchen  door-sill  to  walk  down  the 
barn-yard  path  to  the  open-air  work  she  loved. 
My  own  Mary  was  pretty  enough,  yet  I  knew 
that  she  could  not  compare  with  "V^ilhelmina.  It 
was  not  only  that  the  girl's  face  was  beautiful, 
but  her  lithe,  noble  walk  was  something  that 
to  see  simply  delighted  your  eyes. 

The  barn-yard  path  passes  near  our  old  west 
porch,  you  remember,  where  we  used  to  sit  to 
gether  an  hour  or  so  after  supper  to  watch  the 
sunset,  the  boys  and  my  husband  smoking  and 
all  of  us  chatting  over  the  past  day.  Every 
night  sitting  there  I  used  to  watch  Wilhelmi- 
na's  feet  tripping  by,  helping  to  wear  the  path, 
and  see  her  figure  cross  the  setting  sun.  Ev 
ery  night  I  used  to  say,  "  Oh,  Mary,  my  child, 
I  do  wish  you  had  Wilhelmina's  figure,"  and 
then  they  would  all  laugh  at  me. 

How  foolish  I  was  to  do  this  I  never  awoke 
to  realize  until  one  night,  only  a  week  before 
Schroder  came  so  unexpectedly  to  take  his 
daughters  home,  I  looked  up  to  see  Rowland 
also  craning  his  neck  around  a  porch  pillar  to 
see  Wilhelmina  pass.  Of  course  I  never  called 
attention  to  her  after  that,  but  I  felt  vaguely 
252 


SALT  OF   THE   EARTH 

troubled.  Hal  was  sitting  beside  Rowland  on 
the  night  I  speak  of.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not 
even  raise  his  eyes.  They  rarely  do  the  same 
thing,  my  two  dear  boys  ;  there  were  never 
two  sons  born  of  one  woman  so  unlike  as  mine. 

People  have  always  said  that  Hal  was  my 
husband's  favorite.  That  was  only  because  he 
was  so  little  a  favorite  with  others.  He  has 
ever  been  shy,  and  hated  company  of  any  kind, 
as  you  know.  "  He  is  inarticulate  only,"  my 
dear  husband  used  to  say,  and  he  always  re 
proved  our  Mary  seriously  when  she  grew 
vexed  with  her  brother  or  called  him  stupid, 
as  she  would  at  times — girls  think  so  little. 

Hal's  greatest  joy  was  to  be  riding  about  the 
farm  with  his  father  ;  that  was  enough  to  con 
tent  him. 

My  husband  used  to  say  laughingly  that  I 
loved  Rowland  best  because  he  was  beautiful ; 
but  you,  my  dear  sister,  know  that  was  not 
true.  Rowland  has  always  been  a  great  favor 
ite  with  every  one  because  he  has  pleasant 
ways,  and  is  genial  and  undeniably  handsome  ; 
while  my  dear  Hal  is  heavily  built  and  slow — 
yet  good-looking  enough  in  his  way. 

Rowland's  quickness  and  grace  have  been  of 
great  disadvantage  to  his  older  brother,  by 
reason  of  the  contrast.  You  know  how  dis 
couraged  you'd  feel  yourself  with  some  one 
near  you  always  brighter  and  gayer  and  more 
of  a  favorite,  no  matter  how  hard  you  strove. 
253 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

But  to  go  back  to  Wilhelmina.  Before  she 
and  her  sisters  left  me,  something  else  hap 
pened  which  again  made  me  vaguely  uncom 
fortable. 

One  evening,  after  we  had  all  left  the  sunset 
porch,  I  thought  I  would  go  down  to  the  barn 
yard  to  look  at  the  new  Alderney  calf,  which  I 
had  not  seen.  Perhaps,  too,  I  wanted  a  glimpse 
of  Wilhelmina  with  her  skirts  caught  up  from 
her  pretty  feet,  her  face  happy  and  flushed  as 
it  always  was  when  she  was  working  among 
the  farm  animals.  I  waited  until  the  milking- 
hour  was  over,  for  my  husband  never  liked 
any  one  but  Wilhelmina  about  the  yard  then. 
He  said  confusion  distracted  the  cows,  and 
then  they  did  not  give  milk  so  well.  Under  his 
rules  ours  certainly  do  give  a  great  quantity. 

When  I  reached  the  yard  I  thought  at  first 
I  was  too  late,  and  that  no  one  was  there  ;  then 
I  saw  Wilhelmina  leaning  against  the  closed 
lower  half  of  the  stable  door.  The  upper  half 
of  the  door  was  wide  open.  I  was  about  to 
call  to  her  when  I  realized  that  Wilhelmina 
was  speaking  to  some  one  just  inside  the  sta 
ble.  Her  back  was  half  turned  from  the  open 
ing,  and  her  head  was  bent.  The  moment  I 
saw  Wilhelmina's  attitude  and  her  drooping 
face  I  recognized  something  unmistakable.  I 
said  to  myself  in  my  sentimental  old  heart : 

"  I  am  going  to  lose  the  best  cook  I  ever  had, 
for  Wilhelmina  is  surely  listening  to  a  love- 
254 


SALT  OF   THE   EARTH 

story,  and  she  does  look  too  pretty  for  any 
thing." 

Though  I  longed  to  know  who  was  the  man, 
and  hoped  it  was  not  our  second  coachman,  for 
he  was  unworthy  of  her,  I  was  slipping  off 
softly  when  Wilhelmina  caught  sight  of  me. 
She  stepped  forward  quite  quietly. 

"  Did  you  come  to  see  the  new  calf  ?"  she 
asked  ;  and  before  I  could  answer,  the  lower 
half  of  the  door  swung  open  and  my  Hal 
walked  out ! 

Oh  !  sister  dear,  I  suppose  Hal  showed  me 
the  calf ;  but  when  I  got  back  to  the  house  I 
could  not  have  told  if  it  were  red  or  white,  had 
any  one  asked  me.  My  first  thought  was  to 
go  at  once  to  my  dear  husband  and  tell  him 
what  I  had  discovered ;  but  on  thinking  it 
over  in  the  quiet  of  my  room  I  soon  saw  that 
I  had  discovered  nothing.  Wilhelmina  had 
stood  by,  calm  and  just  like  herself,  while  Hal 
showed  me  that  wretched  calf.  He  had  been 
rather  silent,  to  be  sure  ;  but  if  Hal  had  been 
garrulous,  that  would  have  been  unusual  for 
him.  Altogether,  the  only  evidence  I  had  of 
a  secret  between  those  two  lay  in  the  look  of 
conscious  happy  listening  which  I  thought  I 
had  caught  on  Wilhelmina's  face.  This  was 
no  evidence  at  all,  coming  as  it  did  from  a 
foolish,  sentimental  old  woman  like  myself, 
I  therefore  said  nothing  to  any  one,  but,  watch 
ing  closely,  never  saw  a  word  or  look  pass  be- 
255 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

tween  Hal  and  Wilhelmina  from  that  time  to 
a  week  later,  when  her  father  came  to  take 
her  and  her  sisters  home.  Their  abrupt  leav 
ing  was  inconvenient  to  me,  of  course,  and  un 
der  other  circumstances  I  should  have  resented 
it.  As  it  was,  far  from  crying,  as  my  dear 
husband  believed  (how  little  our  best -loved 
know  us  !),  it  was  the  greatest  relief  to  me  to 
see  the  Schroder  team  drive  out  of  our  gate 
with  Wilhelmina  on  the  front  seat  by  her  fa 
ther's  side. 

How  mistaken  I  was  to  rejoice  in  that  sight ! 

Not  two  months  after,  as  I  was  sitting  one 
morning  placidly  sewing  in  my  bedroom,  my 
husband  came  in,  and,  taking  a  chair  beside 
me,  began  turning  over  the  contents  of  my 
work-basket.  You  know  that  he  is  not  what 
one  could  call  a  "  fidgety  "  man.  If  I  find  my 
work-basket  in  disorder,  I  know  something  has 
sorely  troubled  my  husband,  and  that  he  has 
been  turning  over  the  matter  in  his  mind, 
along  with  my  spools  and  scissors.  No  one 
else  ever  dares  touch  my  work-basket. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  I  asked;  and  he  answered : 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  Hal  has  been  much 
away  from  home  of  late?" 

My  heart  sank  unaccountably.  "  I  thought 
he  was  out  on  the  farm  with  you,"  I  said. 

My  husband  turned  over  my  spools  a  little 
more,  then  said,  slowly  :  "  No,  he  has  not  been 
with  me.  Can  you  guess  where  he  has  been  ?" 
256 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

I  was  shaking  like  a  leaf  as  I  answered, 
"  With  Wilhelmina  Schroder.  Oh,  my  dear 
boy  !" 

"  Have  you  suspected  something  there  ?" 
asked  my  husband. 

And  then  I  told  him  of  the  scene  in  the  barn 
yard,  saying  that  I  had  not  mentioned  it  be 
fore,  because  it  seemed  such  a  straw  to  build 
fears  upon. 

"  I  am  afraid  your  straw  showed  the  way 
the  wind  was  blowing,"  said  my  husband,  and 
then  he  told  me  something  which  he  in  turn 
had  been  keeping  from  me. 

A  few  days  before,  one  of  the  neighbors  had 
met  my  husband  and  mentioned  to  him  seeing 
Hal  at  Farmer  Schroder's. 

He  spoke  so  significantly  that  my  husband 
asked  him  outright,  "  Have  you  a  motive  in 
mentioning  this?" 

Our  neighbor,  who  is  also  ah  old  friend,  said 
frankly  that  he  had,  and  added  : 

"  Hal  visits  the  Schroders  frequently  ;  I 
think  you  ought  to  know  it." 

My  husband  shook  his  head  when  I  urged 
that  Hal  might  have  been  consulting  the  farm 
er  about  the  crops. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  hear  all,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  more  evidence  at  hand.  To-day  I 
learned  something  from  Schroder  himself.  He 
was  walking  on  the  roadside  with  a  friend,  and 
did  not  hear  my  buggy-wheels  on  the  soft 
R  257 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

earth.  He  was  talking  loudly  of  his  good  pros 
pects,  ending,  as  I  came  up,  with  :  '  An'  den, 
t'ank  Gott,  Wilhelmina  ish  besphoke !'  " 

My  husband  laughed  a  little  as  he  quoted 
this,  but  I  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  does  look  rather  badly,"  said  he. 

I  thought  it  looked  wretchedly,  yet,  knowing 
that  Hal  loved  his  father  as  he  loved  no  one 
else  on  earth,  I  did  not  feel  hopeless,  and  im 
plored  my  husband  to  speak  to  the  boy.  "  If 
you  forbid  it  he  will  give  her  up,"  I  cried.  "  I 
know  he  will !" 

"  I  know  it,  too,"  answered  my  husband, 
"  but  I  cannot  forbid  this,  my  dear.  Once  be 
fore  Hal  entangled  himself  in  a  love  affair  of 
this  same  kind,  and  I  interfered  ;  he  has  never 
been  happy  since." 

"  I  was  not  told  of  that  !"  I  cried. 

"  It  was  not  necessary  to  trouble  you,"  said 
my  dear  husband,  "  for  Hal  was  very  young 
then.  The  girl  was  of  the  same  rank  of  life  as 
Wilhelmina  Schroder.  Evidently  that  is  Hal's 
taste,  and  he  is  a  man  now,  he  should  be  able 
to  decide.  I  do  not  think  he  would  be  happy 
with  a  woman  of  his  own  rank  of  life.  Has  he 
ever  been  happy  with  his  sister  and  her  friends  ? 
They  are  all  too  cultivated,  too  dainty,  for 
him.  Hal  has  a  slow,  uncultured  nature.  He 
is  frightened  by  the  refinements  even  here  in 
his  own  home.  We  must  thank  God  that  the 
boy's  tastes  are  not  low,  as  they  well  might  be 
258 


SALT  OF   THE   EARTH 

in  his  case.  Hal  wanted  to  honorably  marry 
the  first  girl  ;  nothing  else  occurred  to  him. 
We  can't  drive  him  too  far  ;  he  is  no  boy  now." 

My  dear  sister,  what  could  I  say  ?  This  was 
a  long,  long  speech  for  my  husband,  and  he 
was  right  in  every  particular,  but  where  did 
our  boy  get  a  nature  that  only  a  Wilhelmina 
Schroder  could  satisfy?  I  began  to  feel  as  if  he 
were  a  cuckoo  in  our  nest,  though  I  don't  be 
lieve  the  mother  bird  ever  pushed  the  change 
ling  out  of  the  home  tree  and  heart,  do  you  ? 
Some  father  birds  would,  I  know.  My  husband 
was  not  of  that  kind. 

"  Let  me  speak  to  Hal,"  I  urged  ;  but  no,  my 
husband  would  not  consent  to  that  either. 

"  I  dare  not  interfere,"  he  said  ;  "  nor  ought 
you  to  do  so.  We  must  watch  and  wait  and 
be  silent.  The  boy  will  speak  to  me  before 
long  ;  and,  after  all,  he  might  do  worse,  far 
worse,  than  marry  Wilhelmina  Schroder." 

Of  course  I  cried  out  at  this,  as  any  mother 
would.  In  the  bitterness  of  my  heart  I  said  a 
wicked  thing ;  comparing  my  two  boys,  and 
crying  : 

"  Oh,  if  Hal  were  but  like  Rowland !"  My 
husband  smiled. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "Rowland  may  be 
more  like  Hal  than  you  know,  and  Wilhelmina 
must  have  great  natural  refinement,  or  I  should 
not  have  been  obliged  to  go  to  Schroder  and 
tell  him  he  must  take  his  girls  home.  A  coarse 
259 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

woman  would  not  have  attracted  Rowland.  It 
is  all  safely  over  now,  and  Schroder  came  for 
his  girls,  as  you  know  ;  but  you  did  not  know, 
did  you,  that  Rowland  came  to  me  in  sore  dis 
tress,  entreating  that  Wilhelmina  might  be 
taken  out  of  his  sight  before  it  was  too  late  ? 
Like  Rowland,  was  it  not?  Careful  as  Hal  is 
careless." 

Sister  dear,  imagine  my  feelings ;  learning 
in  the  same  hour  that  both  my  boys  had  fallen 
victim  to  my — to  Wilhelmina  ! 

For  the  moment  I  was  very  angry  ;  and  yet, 
as  Rowland  had  honorably  spoken  to  his  fa 
ther,  stamping  out  his  passing  passion,  my 
husband  was  right  in  telling  me  of  this.  It 
did  comfort  me  to  have  it  so  proven  that  Wil 
helmina  was  not  wholly  unrefined  ;  for  Row 
land  is  almost  too  fastidious.  The  girl  he  has 
since  married  is  dainty  as  a  flower,  body  and 
mind. 

It  must  have  been  Wilhelmina's  beauty  that 
first  singed  Rowland's  heart ;  and  then  she 
did  have  a  wonderfully  quiet,  queenly  man 
ner. 

I  say  that  I  found  some  comfort  in  my  hus 
band's  argument ;  but  that  is  as  I  now  look 
back  on  it.  In  those  hard  days  it  seems  to  me 
I  found  comfort  in  nothing.  I  could  only  sit 
in  my  room,  weeping  and  weeping  over  the  ut 
ter  sacrifice  of  my  boy.  My  judgment  quite 
forsook  me.  I  could  only  give  myself  up  into 
260 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

my  dear  husband's  hands  and  do  whatever  he 
bade  me — which  was  to  do  nothing. 

As  his  father  had  prophesied,  Hal's  confes 
sion  soon  came.  Perhaps  the  sight  of  my  un 
explained  sorrow  hastened  it.  He  spoke  to 
his  father  as  they  rode  over  the  farm  together 
one  morning,  and  was  told  that,  while  it  was 
impossible  for  his  parents  to  approve  such  a 
marriage,  nothing  would  be  done  to  oppose  it. 

"  You  are  now  twenty-six  years  old,"  said 
my  husband.  "  You  refused  the  yearly  allow 
ance  I  offered  you  on  your  coming  of  age.  I 
will  now  increase  that  sum,  and  offer  it  again 
to  you  on  your  marriage-day,  with  the  one  pro 
vision  that  you  and  Wilhelmina  make  a  home 
for  yourselves." 

When  my  husband  repeated  this  speech  to 
me,  I  was  as  nearly  angry  with  him  as  ever  in 
our  married  life.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he 
was  simply  smoothing  the  way  for  our  boy  to 
run  down-hill. 

"  Do  you  want  Hal  and  his  wife  settling  with 
the  Schroders  ?"  asked  my  husband.  "  Marry 
they  will,  one  way  or  another.  Do  you  want 
our  grandchildren  brought  up  as  a  part  of  that 
family  ?" 

He  was  right,  as  always,  dear  sister  ;  but  I 
could  hardly  see  it  so  when  Hal  came  to  my 
room,  where  I  was  then  spending  the  greater 
part  of  my  days,  and  told  me  that,  owing  to  his 
father's  generosity,  he  was  able  to  marry  at  once. 
261 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  I  won't  ask  you  or  father,"  he  said,  "  or 
any  of  our  family  to  be  present  at  my  wed 
ding.  You  wouldn't  want  to  come.  It  is  to 
be  as  quiet  as  can  be,  in  the  old  church  where 
you  and  father  were  married,  and  where  we 
children  have  all  been  baptized." 

Oh,  what  memories  those  words  brought  to 
me  !  This  was  a  long  speech  from  Hal,  and  I 
knew  to  have  made  it  he  must  have  been  feel 
ing  deeply ;  so  I  tried  to  answer,  but  could 
only  kiss  him  and  cry  foolishly.  He  seemed 
to  be  satisfied,  however,  and  this  was  all  he 
told  us  of  his  plans. 

Though  Hal  did  not  mention  when  his  mar 
riage  was  to  be,  we  knew  the  date,  as  families 
do  know  these  things  by  instinct.  We  learned 
afterwards  that  at  Hal's  request  none  of  the 
Schroders  were  present  at  the  ceremony  ei 
ther.  In  all  but  the  one  vital  point  he  proved 
unusually  careful.  His  only  witnesses  were 
our  clergyman's  wife,  the  sexton,  and — whom 
do  you  think? — our  old,  old  coachman,  who 
taught  Hal  to  ride,  and  his  father,  too,  for  that 
matter.  He  has  been  like  a  member  of  the 
family  so  long  that  he  had  the  same  power  to 
divine  the  day  and  hour  of  our  boy's  marriage. 
There  he  was  when  Hal  reached  the  church, 
a  wedding-favor  in  his  button-hole,  a  nosegay 
in  his  hand,  ready  to  open  the  door,  bow  his 
young  master  through,  and  respectfully  follow 
him  and  Wilhelmina  up  the  aisle.  My  hus- 
262 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

band  said  that  Hal  had  tears  in  his  eyes  when 
he  told  him  of  this.  We  were  all  touched  by 
it.  But  to  think  that  our  eldest  son  should 
have  had  as  groomsman  only  a  faithful  servant 
following  him  ! 

Still,  it  was  best  so.  We  could  not  go  to 
that  wedding,  and  Rowland  would  not.  He 
was  very  angry  with  his  brother.  I  knew  he 
had  yet  another  reason  for  this  than  family 
pride  alone.  He  had  trampled  out  that  same 
fire,  and  believed  his  brother  could  have  done 
so  with  as  little  cost.  I  don't  know  myself. 
Hal  has  few  roots  ;  those  are  strong  and  go 
deep. 

Rowland  was  married  before  the  half-year 
was  out ;  such  a  satisfactory  marriage  in  ev 
ery  way.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  us  in 
our  trouble  to  have  this  joy  come  breaking 
through  ;  for  although  we  thought  ourselves 
unhappy  before  Hal's  wedding,  it  was  after 
its  accomplishment  that  the  real  trials  began. 
How  were  we  to  meet  Wilhelmina,  and  she  us  ? 
Remember,  my  dear  sister,  my  last  parting 
with  her  had  been  at  my  kitchen  door. 

Fortunately,  I  had  little  time  to  think  of  the 
meeting.  A  short  while  before  the  marriage 
my  husband  had  bought  a  little  cottage  some 
miles  down  the  road  which  passes  our  farm. 
He  asked  me  to  help  him  in  furnishing  it  from 
garret  to  cellar.  I  knew,  of  course,  without 
asking,  why  this  cottage  was  bought,  and  for 
263 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

whom ;  but  my  husband  said  nothing,  and  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  open  speech.  We 
used  to  call  the  place  "  the  little  cottage  "  when 
we  talked  over  the  arrangements. 

I  think  if  I  had  not  had  the  furnishing  of 
that  cottage  to  distract  me  I  should  have  lost 
my  mind  during  the  interval  between  Hal's 
confession  and  his  wedding.  Perhaps  my  dear 
husband  knew  this ;  he  understands  most  of 
those  things  taught  by  tenderness. 

It  was  hard  work  to  have  all  in  order  by 
the  date  my  husband  set,  Hal's  wedding-day, 
but  we  did;  and  when  it  was  done,  tired  as  I  was, 
I  wished  I  had  it  all  to  do  over  again — carpen 
tering,  furnishing,  painting — so  restless  was  I. 

The  last  nail  was  driven,  the  last  curtain 
hung  the  morning  of  the  marriage  ;  and  that 
night,  for  the  first  time,  my  husband  called  the 
"  little  cottage  "  by  its  true  name. 

I  could  see  that  he,  too,  was  somewhat  rest 
less,  walking  from  window  to  window  and  look 
ing  out  into  the  moonlight. 

"Come,"  he  said,  at  last, turning  to  me  ;  "it's 
as  bright  as  day  outside  ;  suppose  we  have  the 
colt  harnessed  to  the  buggy  and  drive  down 
to  Hal's  cottage  to  meet  them,  get  it  over,  and 
go  to  sleep  in  peace." 

We  did  not  talk  much  during  that  drive ; 
the   colt    always    behaved   badly   in   harness, 
which  engrossed  us  both  ;  I  knew  my  husband 
had  selected  the  colt  intentionally. 
264 


SALT  OF   THE  EARTH 

I  don't  like  to  dwell  on  that  meeting,  my 
dear.  We  were  received  by  my  boy  and  his 
wife  ;  and  though  it  was  their  home,  it  was  we 
who  showed  them  through  it,  opening  every 
room  and  cupboard.  When  we  came  to  the 
store-closet,  which  I  had  filled  with  preserves 
and  groceries  from  my  own  stores,  Wilhelmina 
turned  gratefully  to  me.  She  was  about  to 
speak,  but  either  I  shrank  back  or  she  faltered, 
so  not  one  direct  word  passed  between  us  that 
night.  My  husband  and  Hal  talked  for  four. 

When  I  dared  look  at  Wilhelmina,  I  could 
see  that  she  had  been  crying.  Her  eyelids  still 
kept  swelling  with  unshed  tears  which  she 
would  not  let  fall.  She  showed  great  self-con 
trol,  was  quiet  and  subdued  in  manner,  yet  not 
without  dignity.  It  was  a  trying  half-hour  to 
us  all. 

When  we  left  them  at  last,  my  husband  laid 
his  hand  on  Wilhelmina's  shoulder,  saying  what 
I  had  been  trying  to  say  all  the  while. 

"  This  cottage  is  your  wedding-gift  from  us, 
my  child.  May  you  be  very  happy  here,  and 
God  bless  you  !" 

Wilhelmina  broke  down  then  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands.  I  liked  her  for  it, 
but  it  was  none  the  less  bitterly  hard  to  see 
my  boy,  so  undemonstrative  with  his  very 
own,  comforting  this  stranger  as  I  never  would 
have  dreamed  he  could. 

I  found  that  my  husband  felt  this  also. 
265 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Hal  will  make  her  a  good  husband,"  he  said, 
with  a  sigh,  on  the  way  home.  "  She  under 
stands  him  ;  perhaps  we  have  been  to  blame 
that  we  never  have." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  bitterly  ;  "  we  have  not  been 
Schroders,  and  our  friends  are  not  of  that  kind." 

"  Our  friends,"  repeated  my  husband, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  had  not  considered  them." 

"  No,"  I  answered  ;  "  I  suppose  not.  But 
there  is  not  a  woman  in  this  county  who  is  not 
to-night  considering  whether  she  shall  or  shall 
not  call  on  Wilhelmina." 

"It  is  for  us  to  settle  that,"  said  my  hus 
band,  still  more  thoughtfully  ;  and  then  I  wish 
ed  heartily  that  I  had  held  my  tongue.  But 
if  I  wished  so  then,  I  wished  it  again  and  more 
strongly  the  next  day,  which  was  Sunday. 

Hal  was  married  on  a  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  on  Sunday  morning  about  sunrise  I  was 
awakened  by  hearing  some  one  moving  stealth 
ily  in  my  room.  Opening  my  eyes,  I  saw  my 
husband  standing  by  my  bed.  I  was  startled 
for  a  moment,  thinking  he  must  be  ill,  until 
he  said,  "  There  is  nothing  wrong,"  and  added, 
"  I  have  been  lying  awake,  Mary,  thinking  over 
the  social  question  you  mentioned  last  night. 
I  am  now  about  to  ride  down  to  Hal's  cottage, 
and,  if  you  approve,  tell  him  we  wish  him  to 
bring  his  wife  to  our  pew  to-day.  I  think  that 
will  settle  everything  in  the  eyes  of  the  neigh 
borhood." 

266 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

I  knew  it  would,  and  I  knew,  too,  in  my 
wicked  old  heart,  that  I  did  not  want  matters 
so  settled.  I  suppose  I  think  entirely  too 
much  of  what  my  neighbors  do  and  say.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  could  forehear  the  whis 
pers  and  see  the  smiles  of  our  best  friends — 
for  best  friends  will  do  that — when  calling 
upon  poor  Wilhelmina,  whose  manners  were 
nil,  and  whose  English  was  remarkable  at 
times. 

I  did  not  urge  my  husband  against  doing 
what  he  suggested,  simply  because  I  knew  it 
would  be  useless,  if  he  had  lain  awake  and 
decided  that  it  was  right.  Also  I  knew  his  de 
ferring  the  question  to  me  was  but  a  matter 
of  courtesy,  which  he  never  forgets  or  omits. 
Then,  too,  if  it  were  really  right,  I  suppose  I 
wanted  it  done  ;  but,  oh,  dear  sister,  when  Wil 
helmina  and  Hal  walked  up  the  aisle  to  our  pew 
that  Sunday  morning,  and  I  saw  the  bonnets 
turning  and  moving  and  meeting  in  every  pew 
in  the  church,  I  thought  I  should  die. 

I  noticed  gratefully  that  Wilhelmina  was 
dressed  simply.  She  was  quiet  and  stately  in 
appearance,  looking  rather  pale  and  proud  with 
her  lowered  lids.  She  has  pretty,  white  eyelids. 
I  don't  think  outsiders  would  have  suspected 
anything  wrong,  but  you  know  there  are  no 
outsiders  in  a  country  congregation. 

My  dear  husband  knew  the  world  better 
than  I.  He  was  again  proven  right.  All  the 
267 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

old  county  families  called  on  Wilhelmina  dur 
ing  the  following  week,  and  it  was  far  better  so. 

Wilhelmina  told  me  of  these  calls  simply. 
She  astonished  me,  too,  by  saying,  humbly, 
that  she  had  refused  herself  to  every  one  of 
her  visitors,  as  she  "  did  not  feel  ready  yet." 

Touching,  was  it  not  ?  I  felt  so  sorry  for  her, 
and  grateful,  too.  She  did  indeed  have  much 
to  learn  before  receiving  any  one,  or  returning 
calls  either.  All  that  could  wait.  Wilhelmina 
was  a  fine,  sensible  woman  in  many  ways.  I 
think  I  should  have  admired  her  immensely 
had  she  been  married  to  somebody  else's  boy. 
She  was  clever,  too,  and  determined.  When 
she  found  that  she  was  a  little  old  to  unlearn 
the  poor  but  distinct  English  she  spoke,  she 
deliberately  dropped  into  a  really  pretty  Ger 
man  accent,  literally  translated  idioms,  and  so 
on.  It  covered  a  multitude  of  sins.  One  for 
gives  so  much  in  a  pretty  foreigner.  This 
clever  move  of  Wilhelmina's  ought  to  have 
amused  me  then,  as  it  does  now,  but  the  sub 
ject  was  a  little  too  tender.  I  had  not  much 
sense  of  humor  at  that  time. 

"  She  is  wonderfully  plucky,"  said  my  hus 
band.  I  knew  she  was,  and  as  time  went  on 
and  I  found  in  her  other  virtues  as  well,  I  was 
at  the  cottage  more  frequently  than  I  had  ever 
thought  it  possible  I  could  be. 

I  always  chose  hours  when  I  would  not  meet 
the  Schroders,  though  I  knew  they  were  there 
268 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

but  little,  as  they  were  hard-working  people 
and  lived  at  some  distance.  And  yet,  with  all 
my  care,  a  meeting  there  was.  One  unfortu 
nate  day  I  came  in  unexpectedly  and  went 
straight  up  the  stairs  to  Wilhelmina's  bedroom, 
which  I  had  never  done  before.  As  I  stood 
on  the  threshold,  I  heard  a  little  scurry  inside 
the  room,  and,  opening  the  door,  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  heavy  figure  hurrying  out  of 
my  sight  by  another  door.  I  recognized  Mrs. 
Schroder's  broad  back. 

Wilhelmina  came  to  me  with  an  unusual 
color  in  her  cheeks  ;  she  was  subdued  and 
depressed  in  manner.  Somehow  the  whole 
episode  made  me  feel  sick,  disgusted,  and  de 
graded.  When  I  went  home,  which  was  soon 
after,  you  may  be  sure,  I  told  my  husband  of 
my  encounter,  with  tears  of  self-pity.  He  only 
said,  "  Poor  child !"  and  at  first  I  thought  he 
was  speaking  of  me.  I  did  not  like  it  when  I 
found  it  was  Wilhelmina  he  meant. 

"  We  separate  her  from  her  own  kind,  and 
are  but  little  to  her  ourselves,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
feel  sincerely  sorry  for  her." 

I  tried  to  look  at  it  in  the  same  way,  but  I 
was  dreadfully  sorry  for  myself.  The  only 
comfort  I  could  see  was  that  the  Schroders 
were  soon  to  move  yet  farther  away,  and  that 
Hal  was  really  perfectly  happy  in  his  marriage. 
He  still  assisted  his  father  on  the  farm — a 
business  arrangement  it  had  become — and  as 
269 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

the  farming  season  grew  busy,  we  saw  more 
and  more  of  him  and  less  of  Wilhelmina.  I 
dreaded  visiting  my  daughter-in-law  after  that 
chance  encounter  with  her  mother,  and  Wil 
helmina  came  to  see  us  very  seldom.  I  am 
afraid  I  liked  it  thus  ;  for  so  matters  stood, 
and  had  been  standing  for  weeks  (to  my  shame 
I  say  it),  when  one  day,  in  the  height  of  the 
wheat  season,  my  husband  came  to  me  looking 
troubled. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  Hal  has  not  complained 
at  all,  but  something  he  has  said — very  little, 
though  evidently  from  a  full  heart — has  made 
me  realize  that  his  duties  are  keeping  him  here 
with  us  constantly,  that  Mrs.  Schroder  now 
lives  too  far  away  to  be  anything  to  Wilhel 
mina,  and  the  child  must  be  living  in  a  lonely 
cottage  on  an  unfrequented  roadside  by  her 
self,  day  in  and  day  out,  except  for  her  negro 
servant.  It  is  very  bad  for  her.  When  did  you 
see  her  last  ?" 

I  had  the  grace  to  be  ashamed  to  tell  him, 
but  I  did. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear !"  answered  my  hus 
band. 

Then  I  knew  that  he  was  almost  angry  with 
me,  for  that's  as  harsh  a  word  as  I  ever  re 
ceive  from  him. 

In  the  same  afternoon  I  went  to  see  Wilhel 
mina,  and  was  shocked  to  find  her  looking  ill 
and  depressed.  She  was  almost  repellent  in 


SALT  OF  THE   EARTH 

her  manner  to  me,  though  perfectly  respect 
ful.  She  was  "quite  well,"  she  said.  You  know 
the  proud  way  a  woman  refuses  sympathy 
sometimes. 

I  could  not  blame  her,  for  I  had  not  striven 
to  win  her  confidence  ;  but  I  went  home  and 
lay  awake  a  greater  part  of  the  night  full  of 
trouble.  In  the  morning,  the  first  words  I 
said  to  my  husband  were  : 

"  I  cannot  stand  this.  I  don't  know  what 
we  ought  to  do,  and  yet  we  must  do  some 
thing.  Wilhelmina  is  fretting  her  heart  out." 

"You  can't  stand  what?"  asked  my  husband  ; 
"  having  Wilhelmina  so  far  away,  or  bringing 
her  nearer?  Have  you  thought  of  the  old 
Lodge  Cottage,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Oh,  don't !"  I  cried  ;  "  oh,  don't  !  As  if  that 
Lodge  Cottage  has  not  been  haunting  me  all 
night !" 

"Well,  after  all,  it  is  a  gloomy  old  place," 
said  my  husband. 

"It  wouldn't  be,  if  you  sacrificed  a  few 
trees,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  it  has  too  few  win 
dows. '' 

"  I  could  easily  have  a  few  more  eyes  poked 
in  it,"  my  husband  argued,  "  and  run  up  a  porch 
or  so.  But  the  Lodge  is  very  near  the  house, 
my  dear.  It  would  bring  Wilhelmina  and  our 
boy  close  to  us  in  every  way.  It  is  for  you  to 
consider  and  decide." 

I  did  not  need  to  ask  my  husband  what  his 
271 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

wish  was.  His  voice  told  me  when  he  spoke 
of  our  oldest  boy  being  close  to  us.  Yet  I  could 
not  bring  my  mind  or  my  heart  to  consent  to 
that  closeness  with  Wilhelmina. 

"  I  dare  not  risk  it,"  I  said.  "  We  must  leave 
matters  as  they  are,  and  I  will  try  to  see  Wil 
helmina  more  constantly  where  she  is." 

So  we  arranged  to  drive  down  to  Hal's  cot 
tage  that  night  as  a  good  beginning.  It  was 
a  brilliant  moonlight  evening,  almost  as  bright 
as  the  night  when  we  first  had  introduced  Hal 
and  Wilhelmina  to  their  new  home,  months 
before.  I  was  reminded  of  that  past  unhappy 
time  in  other  ways  also,  as  we  drove  rapidly 
down  the  familiar  road.  Wilhelmina  had  be 
come  again  as  a  stranger  to  me.  I  felt  un 
easily  that  I  was  to  meet  her  on  a  new  and 
unfamiliar  footing. 

Nothing  turns  out  just  as  we  expect,  does 
it,  my  dear?  Why  we  should  plan  and  plan 
as  we  do  I  cannot  imagine,  when  but  one  little 
touch  of  the  kaleidoscope  changes  all  the  scene. 
As  I  imagined  things  were  to  be,  I  had  a  little 
speech  composed  to  repeat  to  Wilhelmina.  It 
was,  as  I  now  remember  it,  coldly  kind,  a  little 
reproachful,  and  all  that  it  should  not  have 
been.  This  is  what  happened  as  things  were 
in  reality. 

Hal  met  us  in  the  road  as  we  turned  into 
his  gateway,  and  stopped  me  as  I  held  out  my 
hand  for  him  to  lift  me  to  the  gro  nd. 
272 


SALT  OF  THE  EARTH 

"No,  mother,"  he  said,  gently;  "we  heard 
the  wheels  and  saw  you  coming.  Wilhelmina 
sent  me  out  to  meet  you.  She  says  she  can't 
see  you  to-night.  Don't  get  down,  mother, 
don't  get  down.  Wilhelmina  is  far  from  well. 
She  is  getting  everything  ready  for  me  to  take 
her  to  her  mother's  house  to-morrow  for  a  long 
visit.  Mrs.  Schroder  was  here  yesterday,  and 
had  made  me  anxious.  Mother,  did  you  think 
my  wife  looked  so  very  ill  ?" 

What  a  jealous  old  woman  I  am  !  I  looked 
at  my  own  boy's  face,  flushed  and  quivering, 
and  my  first  thought  was  a  deep  resentment 
that  never  in  his  life  with  us  had  I  seen  him 
so  deeply  moved.  Wilhelmina  alone  was  able 
to  stir  those  waters. 

I  have  always  been  very  grateful  to  my  good 
angel  that  at  least  my  second  thought  was  for 
Wilhelmina.  Absurd  as  it  was,  I  resented  also 
that  Mrs.  Schroder  should  dare  to  claim  her. 

I  caught  the  hands  which  Hal  stretched  out 
to  restrain  me,  and  by  them  helped  myself  to 
the  ground.  Hal  was  ever  slow  of  motion.  I 
ran  straight  past  him  into  the  house  and  up 
the  stair  to  Wilhelmina's  bedroom.  I  did  not 
wait  to  knock,  but  turned  the  handle  of  the 
door.  It  was  locked.  I  could  hear  a  step  pacing 
back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  inside.  It  was 
a  sound  that  made  me  anxious. 

"  Wilhelmina,"  I  said,  "open  the  door.  I  want 
to  speak  to  you."  Then  I  realized,  with  a  shock, 
s  273 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

that  I  had  not  a  single  familiar  endearing  name 
by  which  to  call  my  son's  wife  to  me.  What 
I  had  said  sounded  as  cold  as  death,  showing 
the  tones  with  which  I  must  always  have  ap 
proached  her. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear  child,"  I  cried,  desper 
ately,  "open  the  door  to  me." 

There  was  no  answer,  but  I  could  hear  choked 
sobs,  and  the  footsteps  ceased.  My  heart  was 
in  actual  pain,  what  with  sympathy  for  the 
poor  lonely  child  and  with  the  lashes  of  my 
own  accusing  conscience. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  I  urged,  "  at  least  come 
nearer  to  the  door  and  listen  to  me." 

But  only  the  sobs  answered,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  burst 
into  tears  myself.  "  I  don't  blame  you,"  I  cried. 
"  I  have  been  cruel  to  you,  Wilhelmina,  cruel ; 
but  I  didn't  mean  to  be.  It  has  been  terribly 
hard  on  us  both,  but  now — I  am  Hal's  mother, 
I  ought  to  be  with  you,  and  I  can't  stand  be 
ing  locked  out." 

Then  the  key  turned  in  the  door,  and  Wil 
helmina  fell  forward  into  my  open  arms. 

Oh,  my  dear  sister,  it  was  not  only  the  door 
of  her  room  that  the  dear  child  then  unlocked 
to  me  ;  all  that  was  pent  up  in  her  poor  proud 
heart  came  rushing  out. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  when  I  could  speak,  "  you 
must  come  home  with  me  to-night,  and  stay 
with  us  until  the  Lodge  Cottage  is  made  ready. 
274 


SALT  OF  THE   EARTH 

You  and  Hal  are  to  live  there  in  the  future. 
This  is  too  far  away  from  us  ;  we  came  to-night 
to  tell  you  so."  Which  was  not  in  the  least 
true,  my  dear,  as  you  know  ;  yet,  indeed,  at  the 
moment,  I  somehow  found  myself  honestly  be 
lieving  that  it  was. 

Perhaps  you  don't  understand  my  sudden 
change  towards  Wilhelmina  ;  I  could  never 
quite  account  for  it  myself.  I  only  know  that 
from  that  hour  to  this  Wilhelmina  and  I  have 
known  and  loved  each  other.  Far  from  sep 
arating  me  from  my  boy,  she  has  been  to  me 
as  the  key  of  his  heart,  which  I  could  never 
unlock  ;  for  Hal  never  loved  me,  save  as  a  kind 
of  matter  of  course,  until  his  wife  became  an 
interpreter  between  us.  Yes  ;  I  am  very  fond 
of  Wilhelmina  (in  your  ear,  my  dear,  fonder 
than  of  Rowland's  wife,  who  is  a  trifle  too  per 
fect  for  my  every-day  mind).  She  is  a  dear 
daughter  to  me,  a  sweet  wife  to  my  son,  and 
a  good  mother  to  his  children.  The  little  ones 
are  almost  overflowing  the  Lodge  Cottage, 
which  is  not  gloomy  at  all,  but  a  real  sun-trap. 
There  they  live  quietly  and  happily  under  our 
parent  wings,  the  only  ones  of  our  nestlings 
building  near  us.  Wilhelmina  does  not  care 
for  society,  and  goes  out  very  little,  though  she 
might  if  she  wished,  as  she  has  spent  much  time 
and  labor  in  learning  those  things  which  seem 
ed  needful.  She  was  pathetically  humble  over 
her  deficiencies,  yet  proud,  too,  in  a  nice  way. 
275 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

After  that  first  peacemaker  baby  was  born 
in  the  Lodge  Cottage,  I  took  Wilhelmina  with 
me  to  return  all  the  county  family  calls  which 
she  had  allowed  to  wait.  She  looked  charm 
ingly  pretty,  and  was  so  modest  and  shy  as  to 
disarm  unkind  criticism. 

And  what  a  difference  dress  makes  !  I  de 
signed  Wilhelmina's  calling  costume  myself. 
In  fact,  on  that  night  when  she  unlocked  to 
me  her  door  and  her  heart  in  one,  I  said  to  her : 
"  Take  the  worry  of  the  sewing  off  your  mind, 
my  dear  ;  I  will  attend  to  all  that  for  you." 
Then  I  added  :  "  I  only  promise  for  this  one 
time,  you  know — just  to  start  you.  I  want  you 
to  learn  to  do  all  such  things  for  yourself." 

I  said  this  because  I  was  afraid  that  I  might 
spoil  her  ;  but  since  then,  though  Wilhelmina 
is  not  in  the  least  spoiled,  she  hardly  knows 
what  she  or  her  children  are  to  wear  from  sea 
son  to  season. 

"  Still  starting  Wilhelmina  ?"  says  my  hus 
band,  when  he  sees  me  absorbed  with  the  seam 
stress  ;  but  I  know  that  he  loves  to  find  me 
thus  happily  occupied.  It  keeps  me  young. 

You  can  see  from  all  this,  dear,  what  a  united 
household  we  are,  and  also  how  nearly  we  es 
caped  something  widely  different.  When  I 
think  that  these  dear  little  grandchildren  of 
ours  might  have  grown  up  apart  from  us  and  in 
surroundings  most  painful  to  us ;  that  our  eld 
est  son  might  have  been  wholly  alienated  from 
276 


SALT   OF  THE   EARTH 

us  and  our  old  age  have  found  us  sorrowing, 
I  am  filled  with  gratitude  for  what  we  have 
and  for  what  we  are  spared.  I  don't  even  now 
pretend  to  say  that  it  was  not  a  hard,  hard 
trial  that  we  passed  through.  But  see  what  it 
has  brought  for  us.  I  have  gained  a  new-made 
son,  a  tender,  grateful  daughter,  and,  better 
than  all,  I  can  look  at  my  dear  husband  and 
know  I  owe  the  whole  to  him  ;  but  for  his  kind 
heart,  wise  head,  and  strong  hand,  the  wrong 
would  never  have  become  the  right.  He  was  the 
salt  that  flavored  the  bread  of  bitterness  I  was 
forced  to  eat,  and  I  do  constantly  thank  God 
first  that  he  has  created  those  who  are  as  the 
salt  of  the  earth,  and  next  that  he  has  granted 
such  an  one  to  me. 

And   now,   my  dear,   you   know  the   whole 
story. 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

"  LOOK  up,  Martin  Pope,"  I  said.  "  Well 
met.  How  is  Lydia  the  Fair  ?  and  what  in  the 
name  of  all  goose-chases  are  you  about  now  ?" 

Martin  and  I  understand  each  other.  Nei 
ther  of  us  ever  evinces  surprise  on  finding  that 
he  has  been  followed  by  the  other  ;  but  though 
I  had  often  sought  and  found  my  friend  in 
strange  places  and  most  strangely  occupied,  I 
had  never  before  seen  him  quite  so  curiously 
employed  as  when  I  stood  on  that  green  bank 
overhanging  a  dusty  highway  and  looked  down 
on  Martin  skilfully  driving  a  flock  of  geese  be 
fore  him  by  aid  of  a  long  willow  switch. 

I  thought  the  creatures  were  geese,  though 
I  could  not  be  sure,  as  each  of  the  queer  wad 
dling  objects  was  swathed  in  a  gray  jacket, 
close-fitting,  and  patterned  somewhat  after  the 
blankets  worn  by  lapdogs. 

Beyond  a  welcoming  wave  of  his  switch, 
Martin  made  no  reply  to  me  until  he  had  care 
fully  driven  his  charges  into  the  rich  pasture 
of  the  fence  corner  behind  us. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  hospitably  waving  me 
278 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

to  the  grass,  as  one  might  offer  a  drawing-room 
chair ;  so  we  sat  on  the  turf  together,  and 
without  further  greeting  Martin  began  :  "  I 
suppose,  as  usual,  you  want  to  hear  the  whole 
story,  from  the  moment  I  left  town  till  now." 

"  Usually  I  do  prefer  your  stories  begun  at 
the  beginning,"  I  answered,  "  but  in  this  case, 
my  dear  boy,  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  first  what 
those  creatures  in  the  fence  corner  may  be, 
and  what  you  have  to  do  with  them  ?" 

"  They  are  geese,"  said  Martin — "  dressed 
geese ;  but  they  are  the  very  end  of  my  story, 
and  as  it's  the  best  tale  you  or  I  have  ever  yet 
lived — and  we've  lived  some  pretty  good  ones, 
eh  ? — I'd  rather  take  things  as  they  come." 

"Then  do  so,"  I  answered.  "The  last  I  saw 
of  you  was  when  you  boarded  the  train  which 
followed  Lydia  into  this  wilderness,  and  the 
last  I  have  heard  is  a  single  rhapsodical  letter, 
written  chiefly  concerning  the  veins  on  Lydia's 
temple,  and  the  beauties  of  the  homestead 
where  you  have  secured  lodgings  near  your 
charmer." 

"  She  lives  just  a  little  way  up  that  road." 
Martin  pointed  up  the  highway  to  a  point  where 
the  road  forked.  "  The  right-hand  road  leads 
to  Lydia,"  he  said,  "  and  the  left  to  my  present 
home — and  Peachy." 

"Who's  Peachy?"  I  asked.  "You  did  not 
mention  her  in  your  letter." 

"  Because  she  was  then  away  visiting  a 
279 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

neighbor.  Her  father,  a  primitive  degenerate, 
whose  ancestors  once  owned  about  all  of  the 
country  around  here,  is  a  lazy  farmer,  who  adds 
to  his  cash  by  now  and  then  taking  in  a  stray 
artist  boarder  or  a  wandering  fisherman,  or  a 
loafer  like  me.  He  sent  for  Peachy  as  soon  as 
I  arrived.  As  I  was  eating  my  breakfast  one 
morning  I  heard  a  cooing  voice  on  the  porch 
outside  the  dining-room  window.  These  were 
the  first  words  I  heard  Peachy  speak  : 

"  '  You,  Joey,  I  thought  I  told  you  I  wouldn't 
have  potatoes  planted  there.  You  thought  I 
was  away,  did  you  ?  Well,  I'm  home  now,  and 
you  can  just  dig  them  right  up.  The  first 
thing  I  plant  in  my  own  garden  is  my  own 
foot,  and  I  want  you  to  remember  it.' 

"  I  heard  a  resolute  stamp  from  the  member 
referred  to,  and  I  rose  and  looked  out  to  see 
Peachy.  Oh,  my  poor  heart !" 

"What!  that  old  thing?"  I  said,  crossly. 
"  Don't  ask  sympathy  from  me  for  your  bat 
tered  heart,  Martin.  I  believe  you're  invent 
ing  all  this,  anyway." 

More  than  once,  when  there  was  no  story  to 
tell,  Martin  had  invented  one  with  which  to 
meet  me ;  though,  in  truth,  the  actual  experi 
ences  he  managed  to  fall  into  were  generally 
stranger  than  his  fiction. 

"  This  time  it's  all  true,"  said  Martin.  "  You 
can  ask  Lydia." 

"  Does  Lydia  know  of  Peachy's  existence  ?" 
280 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

Martin's  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  am  coming  to 
that.  The  first  morning  after  meeting  Peachy 
I  helped  her  to  pick  the  currants  in  her 
garden.  I  spent  the  afternoon  with  Lydia. 
The  next  day  I  spent  the  morning  with  Lydia 
and  the  afternoon  with  Peachy.  So  the  week 
passed,  and  by  the  time  Sunday  came  the  don 
key  between  two  bundles  of  hay  wasn't  a  cir 
cumstance  to  me.  I  lost  pounds  running 
around  that  fork  yonder,  going  from  one  house 
to  the  other  and  back  again.  You  see,  when 
ever  I  was  with  one,  I  was  afraid  I  wanted  to  be 
with  the  other. 

"  On  Sunday,  after  long  doubt,  I  decided 
that  it  was  Lydia  I  wanted  to  take  to  the 
country  church,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
there  sat  Peachy  in  the  pew  before  us.  A 
white  muslin  a  little  open  at  the  neck,  a  string 
of  White  River  shells  about  the  wrhitest  throat, 
and  little  gold  curls  about  the  nape  of  her 
neck  to  creep  into  the  shells  ! 

"  That  was  Peachy.  Lydia  gave  a  gasp  of 
delight  at  the  vision — there's  nothing  mean 
about  Lydia  ;  she  has  her  faults,  but  she's  not 
mean.  No  man  could  have  sat  behind  Peachy 
that  morning  with  any  safety  if  she  hadn't 
worn  something  else.  You've  seen  those 
ghastly  imitation-gold  daggers  shop-girls  stick 
in  their  hair?  Well,  Peachy  wore  one,  and 
that  same  dagger  was  my  salvation.  I  riveted 
my  eyes  on  it  as  a  counter-charm,  and  in  a 
281 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

fatal  moment  Lydia's  glance  followed  mine. 
From  that  moment  her  fingers  began  to  twitch 
in  her  lap.  You  know  how  an  inartistic  effect 
hurts  Lydia.  That  dagger  was  to  her  as  a 
discordant  note  perpetually  sounded.  It  hurt 
her. 

" '  I  can't  stand  it,'  I  heard  her  murmur ; 
and  then  she  swiftly  dealt  with  the  dagger  as 
she  does  with  you  or  me,  or  whatever  offends 
her.  I  pledge  you  my  word,  she  coolly  plucked 
it  out  —  leaned  forward  and  drew  it  from 
Peachy's  hair.  My  blood  ran  cold  as  I  sat 
there.  It  didn't  make  matters  any  better  that 
she  smiled  and  nodded  into  Peachy's  astonished 
face,  nor  that  she  replaced  the  dagger  with  a 
shell  pin  from  her  own  hair.  That  dagger  was 
the  only  thing  which  had  protected  me.  When 
that  was  gone,  it  was  good-bye,  Martin  Pope. 
That  night  Peachy  cried  for  an  hour  on  a 
bench  in  the  arbor,  while  I  argued  with  her 
through  the  vines.  She  wouldn't  let  me  in. 
The  next  day  I  took  Lydia's  shell  pin  back  to 
her,  and  I  brought  back  to  Peachy  her  own 
hideous  dagger,  with  one  of  those  charming 
notes  which  Lydia  alone  can  write.  Lydia 
laughed  as  only  Lydia  can  laugh  when  I  ex 
plained  to  her  that  the  family  were  not  moun 
tain  folk  exactly,  but  decayed  gentlefolk,  and 
then  she  explained  to  me  how  she  fiad  to  take 
out  the  dagger — explained  it  so  that  I  admired 
her  more  than  ever.  I  don't  know  how  she 
282 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

managed  it,  but  she  did.  Lydia  can  explain 
anything  on  earth." 

"  Martin,  can  Lydia  explain  you  ?"  said  I. 
"  Are  you  lingering  here  for  the  sake  of  Lydia 
or  Peachy  ?" 

"  The  Lord  knows  !"  said  Martin.  "  I  wish  I 
did — but  then,"  he  added,  becomingly,  "  both 
Peachy  and  Lydia  may  refuse  me." 

"  Oh,  Martin,"  I  groaned,  with  a  spasm  of 
truth,  "  well  do  we  all  know  that  Lydia  could 
never  bring  herself  to  refuse  you  and  what  is 
yours.  She  may  play  with  you  for  a  time,  but 
she'll  marry  you  in  the  end." 

"  If  Peachy  doesn't  marry  me  first,"  said 
Martin,  placidly,  "  and  I  pledge  you  my  honor 
I'm  not  sure  she  would.  Which  road  do  you 
advise  me  to  try,  old  friend — the  left  to  Peachy, 
or  the  right  to  Lydia?" 

I  looked  at  Martin,  and  saw  that  for  one  of 
the  few  times  in  his  scatter-brained  life  he  was 
in  earnest.  For  my  own  good  reasons,  which 
are  no  man's  affairs,  I  did  not  reply  at  once. 
Martin  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Honestly,"  he  said — "  you  have  always  been 
my  mentor — which  is  best  for  me  ?" 

"  Lydia  !"  I  burst  out.  "  Lydia,  of  course, 
unless  you've  been  breaking  a  country  heart. 
Lydia  is  the  only  wife  for  you  ;  she's  as  irre 
sponsible  as  yourself.  You  have  the  money 
and  she  has  the  brains.  You  were  made  for 
each  other.  She  doesn't  love  you ;  I  won't 
283 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

pretend  she  does ;  but  she'll  make  you  per 
fectly  happy.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  don't 
marry  her,  she'll  put  up  contentedly  with  some 
one  of  us,  and  make  that  one  and  herself  equal 
ly  happy.  How  matters  stand  with  Peachy  I 
don't  know,  of  course,  but  you've  got  to  decide 
it  one  way  or  another,  Martin." 

"  I'm  going  to  decide  to-day,"  said  Martin. 
"In  fact,  I've  got  to  decide  this  hour.  That 
flock  of  geese  represents  the  crisis." 

"  So  we  have  come  to  them  at  last,  have 
we  ?"  said  I,  with  a  glance  towards  the  fence 
corner,  where  the  ridiculous  flock  still  fed. 

"A  week  ago  to-day,"  said  Martin  —  "and 
don't  interrupt  me  again,  for  the  story  runs 
right  on  from  this — I  helped  Peachy  to  clean 
the  cellar.  In  these  weeks  I've  learned  how  to 
clean  a  house  from  top  to  bottom,  and  to  work 
a  garden  from  potatoes  to  pease.  Well,  turn 
ing  over  the  rubbish,  I  stumbled  on  a  stray 
bottle  of  rum,  that  had  lain  there  since  the 
days  when  the  place  was  a  wine-cellar,  I  sup 
pose.  I  knew  the  old  man  had  never  found  it. 

" '  Don't  tell  father,'  said  Peachy  ;  '  he'd  sell 
it '  (the  old  man  would  sell  his  soul  for  a  dol 
lar).  '  Don't  tell  father.  Let's  make  a  rum 
punch,  after  my  great-great-grandmother's  re 
ceipt.' 

"  Peachy  has  all  the  tastes  that  prove  an  in 
heritance  from  gouty  generations.  It  appeared 
that  part  of  the  rum-punch  receipt  called  for 
284 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

setting  the  mixture  in  the  hot  sun  for  half  a 
day,  so  Peachy  and  I  busily  made  punch,  leav 
ing  the  punch  -  bowl  on  the  hot  grass,  our 
selves  sitting  in  the  cool  arbor.  So  nearly 
as  I  recollect,  the  punch  -  making  ran  like 
this  : 

"  I :  '  Why  do  they  call  you  Peachy  ?  That's 
not  a  name.' 

"  Peachy  :  '  Some  of  father's  nonsense  — 
because  my  face  is  all  red  and  white,  he  says. 
I'm  sure  I  wish  it  wasn't.  It  makes  me  look 
like  a  doll-baby.  I'd  like  to  have  proud  feat 
ures  and  mournful  big  eyes,  and  dark  hair  and 
an  oval  face.  I've  done  everything  to  make 
myself  look  like  that.  I've  visited  sick  people 
and  taught  in  Sunday-school,  but  I  keep  on 
looking  just  the  same  frivolous  doll-baby.' 

"  I,  with  a  start  :  '  But  if  you  looked  like 
that,  you'd  be — you'd  be  Lydia,  and  then  what 
would  I  do  ?' 

"  Peachy,  innocently  :  '  Does  Lydia  teach  in 
Sunday-schools  and  visit  sick  people  ?' 

"  I,  quickly  :  '  On  the  contrary.' 

"  Peachy,  vehemently  :  '  I  hate  her  !  I  do  hate 
her,  and  I  hate  her  because  she's  more  beauti 
ful  than  I,  and  better  dressed,  and  knows  more, 
and  because  my  dagger  was  hideous  and  she 
knew  it  and  I  didn't.  I  know  it's  hideous  now  ; 
don't  you  see  I  never  wear  it  ?  Did  you  think 
it  hideous  ?  Tell  me  the  truth.' 

"  I,  reluctantly  :  '  Yes,  I  did.' 
285 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Peachy  :  '  I  knew  you  did.  Of  course  I 
hate  her.' 

"  Here  Peachy  thrust  her  hand  in  her  pocket 
and  drew  out  a  package  of  dress  samples.  '  I 
want  you  to  choose  my  winter  gown  for  me,' 
she  said  ;  '  you  know  all  about  these  things — 
no,  you  needn't  match  the  samples  against  my 
hair.' 

"  So  we  continued  to  make  punch. 

" '  But  I  can't  buy  my  winter  gown,'  said 
Peachy,  '  until  I  sell  my  flock  of  geese.  My 
poultry-yard  buys  me  all  my  clothes.  Now 
my  flock  of  geese  ought  to  bring  me — ' 

"  As  if  answering  to  its  name,  a  large  goose, 
one  of  the  flock,  staggered  to  the  arbor  door, 
turned  round  in  its  tracks,  cackled  feebly  once 
or  twice,  then  fell  gasping  on  its  side.  Peachy 
rushed  out  from  the  arbor,  and  I  heard  a  cry. 
I  followed  quickly.  On  the  grass  before  us,  in 
various  stages  of  reeling  or  collapse,  we  be 
held  all  the  promising  flock  of  geese.  The 
punch-bowl,  empty  and  upset,  told  the  story. 
What  represented  Peachy's  winter  gown  lay 
all  about  us,  tipsy  as  any  ancestor  of  the  house 
on  the  old  rum.  Peachy  lifted  her  voice  and 
wept  aloud,  while  I  dashed  water  over  the 
fainting  fowls.  In  vain  —  they  one  by  one 
twirled  over  on  their  backs  and  lay  motionless, 
claws  up. 

"  '  It's  no  use,'  sobbed  Peachy.  'They  are  all 
dead  or  dying ;  and  I  was  so  fond  of  them  !' 
286 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

Then,  practical  in  her  grief,  '  Go  tell  Joey  to 
pick  them  before  they  get  cold ;  at  least  I'll 
sell  the  feathers.' 

"  There  and  then  I  would  have  thrown  my 
self  at  her  feet,  offering  myself  and  any  num 
ber  of  wardrobes,  but — and  I  was  grateful  to 
her  for  it — Peachy  fled  to  the  house,  sobbing  as 
if  her  heart  were  broken. 

"  I  called  Joey,  and  together  we  plucked 
those  geese.  When  Peachy  at  last  returned, 
we  had  quite  a  consolatory  heap  of  feathers  to 
show  her. 

" '  But  they  won't  buy  a  whole  gown,'  she 
said,  sorrowfully  ;  '  and,  Joey,  these  geese  won't 
be  fit  to  eat  either.  You  can  bury  all  of  them 
in  the  bottom  of  the  garden.' 

"  Joey  got  a  wheelbarrow,  and  packing  the 
bodies  within,  wheeled  them  away,  Peachy's 
eyes  following  the  hearse,  filled  with  tears. 
Suppose  we  go  to  the  funeral,  I  suggested,  as 
distraction.  But  when  Peachy  and  I  arrived 
at  what  was  to  have  been  the  graveyard,  we 
found  there  was  to  be  no  funeral.  Terror- 
stricken  Joey  was  backing  away  from  the 
wheelbarrow,  where  a  poor  stripped  goose  was 
quacking  feebly,  stiffly  yet  unmistakably  mov 
ing  its  bare  legs  and  wings.  Soon  the  whole 
pile  was  in  motion.  They  had  only  been  boozy, 
after  all,  and  the  long  cool  drive  had  refreshed 
them,  as  it  would  any  other  gentlemen  in  like 
condition.  The  scene  was  indescribable  as  the 
287 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

denuded  fowls  disengaged  themselves  from 
each  other  and  flapped  from  the  wheelbarrow 
to  the  ground.  Peachy  laughed  and  wept  al 
ternately,  but  a  brilliant  idea  came  to  me. 

"  Behind  you,  in  this  fence  corner,  my  friend, 
you  see  the  result  of  applied  literature.  I  led 
Peachy  to  the  house,  where  I  selected  Cranford 
from  the  old  bookcase  and  read  aloud  those 
immortal  pages  where  the  clothing  of  the 
singed  cow  is  described.  A  hint  is  enough  for 
Peachy.  By  nightfall  the  shamelessly  naked 
flock  were  as  good  as  ever  for  market  purposes, 
and  all  decently  clothed  in  the  gray  uniform  in 
which  you  now  see  them  browsing." 

I  looked  at  the  feeding  geese,  and  ridiculous 
enough  they  were  ;  but  again,  for  my  own  rea 
sons,  my  face  was  grave. 

"  When  I  told  this  story  of  the  dressed  geese 
to  Lydia,  she  didn't  sit  on  the  grass  and  blink 
on  me  solemnly.  Not  at  all,"  said  Martin. 

"  '  I'd  give  anything  I  possess  for  that  flock 
of  geese,'  said  Lydia,  when  she  could  speak  for 
laughing. 

"  That  ought  to  have  warned  me,  but  it  did 
not.  Peachy  and  I  went  out  fishing  the  next 
morning,  and  when  we  came  home  the  old  man 
handed  twenty-five  dollars  to  Peachy. 

" '  There's  your  winter  gown,'  he  said.  '  I 
sold  your  dressed  geese  for  you  for  a  fancy 
price.' 

"  If  you  believe  me,  Lydia  had  been  over  and 
288 


"'ALL   DECENTLY   CLOTHED 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

bought  the  whole  flock  and  driven  it  away  her 
self. 

"  The  dagger  episode  wasn't  a  circumstance 
to  this. 

"  '  You/  said  Peachy,  turning  to  me  in  a 
rage,  '  must  have  told  her  of  my  geese ;  she 
couldn't  have  known  of  them  unless  you  did. 
You  can  take  back  this  twenty-five  dollars  to 
her  and  bring  my  geese,  or  you  can  go  away 
and  never  let  me  see  you  again.' 

"  Here's  the  twenty-five  dollars,"  said  Mar 
tin,  drawing  a  roll  of  notes  from  his  pocket, 
"  and,  as  you  see,  here's  the  crisis. 

"  '  If  you  take  my  geese  away  from  me,'  says 
Lydia,  '  you  may  follow  them  and  never  come 
back  to  me.' 

"  For  a  week  I  have  vibrated  around  this 
fence  corner.  Neither  Peachy  nor  Lydia  will 
yield.  They  have  made  it  a  test  case.  It's 
under  which  king — speak  or  die?  And  then 
to-day,  if  I  didn't  meet  the  geese  free  and 
browsing  on  the  roadside !  They  have  es 
caped  from  Lydia's  keeping  and  are  in  my 
hands.  So  now,  old  friend,  to  whom  shall  I 
take  them  ?  Shall  I  drive  them  up  the  right- 
hand  road  to  Lydia,  or  the  left  to  Peachy  ?  I 
leave  it  to  you.  This  must  settle  Martin 
Pope." 

I  looked  at  Martin  and  I  looked  at  the 
grotesque  geese,  and  I  looked  into  my  own 
soul. 

T  289 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Why  don't  you  settle  your  fate  for  your 
self  ?"  I  said,  angrily. 

"  Because  you've  always  done  it  for  me," 
said  Martin,  and  I  looked  again  desperately  at 
the  geese. 

A  brilliant  thought  suddenly  seized  me. 
"  Why  not  let  them  decide  ?"  I  said.  "  They've 
been  fed  for  a  week  at  Lydia's — the  chance  is 
as  good  that  they'll  return  there  as  that  they'll 
go  to  Peachy.  Drive  them  to  the  fork  and  let 
them  lead  you." 

"  I  will,"  said  Martin.  He  started  to  his  feet 
and  herded  the  noisy  geese  into  the  roadway. 
"  Stand  there  and  watch,"  he  shouted.  "  It's 
the  corner  of  my  life.  Shoo — shoo  !" 

I  stood  on  the  bank  watching  him.  I  am 
older  than  Martin,  and  I  have  known  him  for 
years.  I  can  never  tell,  however,  how  much  is 
earnest  with  him  and  how  much  jest,  how  much 
truth  he  is  telling  me  and  how  much  of  lies  ; 
but,  foolish  as  his  story  had  been,  I  had  seen 
that  it  hid  an  unusually  real  feeling,  for  what 
or  whom  I  could  not  decide.  My  heart  beat 
hard  as  Martin  reached  the  fork  of  the  road. 
I  wondered  if  he  would  subtly  direct  the  flock 
one  way  or  the  other  ;  but  no,  he  was  rigor 
ously  just,  keeping  the  absurd  cackling  creat 
ures  well  in  the  midst  of  the  highway.  At  the 
crucial  moment  he  even  dropped  his  stick  and 
stood  with  arms  folded.  The  geese  browsed 
a  moment  at  the  grass  on  the  fork's  wedge, 

2go 


A  GOOSE-CHASE 

then  with  slow,  deliberate  waddle  the  leader 
turned  into  the  right-hand  road — the  road  to 
Lydia. 

"  Stop  that  !"  shouted  Martin.  "  Stop  that, 
I  tell  you  !  Shoo  out  of  that — shoo  !" 

The  willow  rod  came  down  on  the  back  of 
the  leader  with  a  whack  that  drove  him 
squeaking  into  the  left-hand  road,  followed 
by  the  brood.  With  shouts  of  laughter,  and 
one  mischievous  backward  look  at  me,  Martin 
drove  them  mercilessly  before  him.  Had  he 
always  meant  to  take  that  road  ?  Did  he 
guess  something  ?  I  did  not  stop  to  wonder. 
With  a  spring  I  leaped  up  from  the  bank  and 
walked — no,  ran — on  my  own  goose-chase  up 
the  right-hand  road 


AN    ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  so.  I'm  judgin'  'em 
by  my  own  feelin's.  If  I  was  to  keep  climbin' 
up  to  a  third  story  to  find  a  meal,  and  be 
poked  down  to  the  street  just  as  I  got  a  nibble, 
I'd  be  too  discouraged  to  do  anything  but  set 
on  the  curb-stone  and  starve.  I  shorely  would. 
That's  jest  the  way  I  think  these  pertater-bugs 
feel.  Kill  'em  ?  No,  I  know  I  ain't  doin'  that, 
but  I  certainly  am  discouragin'  'em.  Yes,  kill- 
in'  would  be  more  final  like,  I  suppose,  but 
then  I'd  have  to  lug  the  water  and  cans  and 
poison-stuff  'way  from  the  house  down  here. 
It  ain't  hardly  worth  while,  an'  it's  kinder 
cruel  anyhow.  Every  farmer  has  his  own  way 
o'  doin'  things." 

Martin  Pope  stood  leaning  on  the  garden 
fence,  watching  Farmer  Esip  at  his  arduous 
labors.  The  old  man  was  dressed  like  a  retired 
preacher  from  his  waist  up,  wearing  a  long 
solemn-looking  black  coat  and  an  old  stove 
pipe  hat,  but  on  his  legs  were  a  pair  of  farm 
er's  overalls,  worn  to  an  artistic  pale  blue.  He 
held  a  little  stick  in  his  hand,  and  moved  with 
292 


^rT/^ffh 

{ i  '  ^ 

^^  r      & 

^  -  ».  (  \x-  —  ^ 


IN    THE    GARDEN    PATCH 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

lazy  patience  from  plant  to  plant  discouraging 
the  potato-beetles.  This  was  Peachy's  father. 
Martin  had  wished  to  ask  his  permission  be 
fore  making  open  love  to  his  daughter,  which 
he  meant  to  do  within  that  hour,  but  somehow 
Mr.  Esip's  occupation  and  costume  did  not 
strike  Martin's  artistic  sense  as  exactly  suitable 
for  such  an  occasion.  Therefore  he  only  said  : 

"  You  ought  to  use  a  longer  stick,  Mr.  Esip. 
Then  you  wouldn't  have  to  bend  your  back 
like  that.  Take  mine.  I've  done  with  it." 

"  It's  more  trouble  to  hold  your  back  up, 
seems  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Esip,  after  using  the 
long  stick  on  several  plants.  "  Guess  I'll  go 
back  to  my  old  way.  Where's  my  little 
stick  ?" 

Martin  found  it  for  him,  and  with  grave  de 
light  watched  his  efforts  towards  extermina 
tion.  There  was  nothing  Martin  Pope  would 
not  do  to  enjoy  new  experiences  and  a  new 
sensation.  His  bohemianism  was  a  true  strain 
that  in  verity  knew  no  law.  It  had  led  him 
into  this  wilderness,  held  him  loitering  in  the 
farm-house,  and  made  him  now  look  on  this 
prospective  father-in-law  as  to  costume  and 
character  with  no  more  serious  feeling  than 
delightful  amusement. 

"  Father  !     Father  !" 

It  was  Peachy's  voice.  She  was  standing 
looking  at  her  sire  with  a  face  that  expressed 
more  than  her  indignant  tone.  Mr.  Esip 
293 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

jumped,  and  then  was  plainly  angry  with  him 
self  for  doing  so. 

"  I  wisht  you  wouldn't  walk  so  soft,"  he  said, 
testily.  "  I've  been  working  to  knock  one  bee 
tle  down  these  five  minutes.  He's  the  most 
set  I  ever  struck,  and  now  I've  lost  him." 

"  I  call  it  a  shame,"  said  Peachy's  clear  tones, 
"bothering  those  poor  bugs.  It  doesn't  help 
the  potatoes  one  bit,  and  just  worries  the  bee 
tles  to  death.  No,  not  even  to  death.  It  don't 
do  that  much  good."  She  looked  her  father 
up  and  down  with  a  sidelong  glance  of  disap 
proval.  "  Father,  you  do  look  dreadful !"  she 
said. 

Mr.  Esip  moved  on  to  another  swarming 
plant.  "  I  calculate  to  sometimes,"  he  said, 
with  calm  obstinacy. 

Martin  laughed  aloud.  Peachy  flushed  an 
offended  pink  that  in  Martin's  fond  eyes  glori 
fied  the  whole  garden,  not  excluding  Mr.  Esip. 

"  Father,"  said  the  daughter,  slowly,  "  you 
go  to  the  house  and  take  off  those  overalls  and 
put  on  your  broadcloth  trousers,  or  take  off 
that  coat  and  hat  and  put  on  your  working- 
blouse.  I  don't  care  which  you  do,  but  it's  got 
to  be  one  or  the  other.  I  won't  have  you  go 
ing  about  looking  like  this." 

Mr.  Esip  nodded  his  head  sidewise  rapidly 
and  angrily.  "  I  actually — I  actually  believe 
you  think  you  run  this  house  ?" 

"  I  do  run  it,"  said  Peachy,  firmly. 
294 


AN   ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

Mr.  Esip  took  off  his  silk  hat  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  scrubbed  his  hair  over  his 
head,  as  if  perplexed  between  what  ought  to 
be  and  what  was  not.  "  Well,  I  guess  you 
do,"  he  admitted,  pleasantly,  and  trudged  off 
to  his  house — his  in  name  only. 

"  Peachy,"  said  Martin,  leaning  far  over  the 
fence,  and  half  whispering  —  "  Peachy,  I've 
brought  home  your  geese.  Here  they  are,  and 
— Peachy,  do  you  love  me?" 

Peachy  ran  to  the  fence,  in  her  eagerness 
leaning  out  as  far  as  her  lover  had  leaned  in. 
She  was  very  close  to  him.  Martin  could  see 
every  little  curling  golden  hair  on  her  neck  and 
temples.  Lydia  wore  her  dark  hair  off  her 
brow,  showing  the  bluest  veins  in  her  temples. 
It  was  a  shock  of  pure  joy  to  Martin  to  know 
in  that  moment  that  he  preferred  the  golden 
tendrils  to  the  blue  veins. 

"Are  they  all  there  ?"  cried  Peachy. 

"  Every  one,"  said  Martin,  "just  as  they  left 
you.  I  wanted  to  have  their  jackets  cleaned 
and  pressed  before  I  brought  them  back,  but  I 
thought  I  wouldn't  wait." 

Now  the  history  of  these  geese,  and  the 
cause  of  their  wearing  flannel  jackets,  is  a  long 
story  aforetold,  and  not  necessary  to  the  pres 
ent  tale  even  in  rdsumtf.  Suffice  to  say  that 
the  safe  return  of  this  straying  flock  had  been 
made  by  Peachy  the  key  to  her  favor,  and  here 
they  were. 

295 


JIMTY,  AND   OTHERS 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  rapidly  counting  them  over. 
"  Yes,  every  one,"  and  she  turned  and  beamed 
on  Martin  with  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Now,  Peachy,  do  you  love  me  ?" 

"  Come  into  the  garden,"  said  Peachy. 
"  Drive  the  geese  into  the  paddock,  and  I'll 
meet  you  at  the  gate." 

She  was  holding  the  garden  gate  ajar  for  him 
when  he  came  back,  and  Martin  entered,  feel 
ing  like  the  first  man  in  the  first  garden.  He 
murmured  something  of  the  kind  to  Peachy  as 
the  gate  creaked  open. 

"  Adam,"  said  Peachy,  coolly,  "  had  an  easy 
time  in  the  garden  :  don't  you  think  so  ?  All 
his  work  was  done  for  him,  every  way.  With 
only  one  woman  in  the  world,  it  was  easy  to 
choose,  wasn't  it  ?" 

Then  Martin  knew  that  Peachy  had  guessed 
far  more  than  he  had  ever  told  her  about 
Lydia. 

"  Peachy,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  insinuation, 
"  do  you  love  me  ?" 

"  That's  not  what  you  ought  to  say  first,  is 
it  ?"  asked  Peachy. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,  Peachy,"  he  replied. 

"  No,  I  don't ;  and  what's  more  to  the  point, 
I  don't  believe  you  do,"  said  Peachy. 

"  I  do,"  he  retorted,  warmly. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

Martin  began  to  laugh.  "  I'll  tell  you,"  he 
said.  "  Come  sit  in  the  old  arbor  with  me, 
296 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

and  I'll  tell  you  just  how  I  know  I  love  you. 
You  see,  my  mother  once  gave  me  a  receipt  for 
knowing.  An  old  maid  that  got  married  some 
how  told  her  how  she  found  out  she  loved,  and 
it  was  a  good  enough  test  for  anybody's  use. 
This  was  the  way  she  knew  :  '  Tilly  Pope,'  she 
said — that  was  my  mother's  name  —  'Tilly 
Pope,  when  I  look  up  in  the  sky,  Nicholas  Gray 
is  there ;  when  I  walk  out  in  the  woods, 
Nicholas  Gray  is  there  ;  when  I  look  out  in 
the  dark,  Nicholas  Gray  is  there.  In  fact, 
Tilly  Pope,  Nicholas  Gray  is  perfectly  identi 
fied  with  me.'  "  Martin  flung  back  his  head 
and  laughed  until  the  arbor  rang.  Then  he 
grew  suddenly  serious.  "  It  is  a  good  test, 
though,  and  I  ought  to  know,  because  that's 
exactly  the  way  I  am  about  you,  Peachy. 
When  I  look — " 

"How  about  when  you  look  at — Lydia?" 
said  Peachy,  dryly. 

The  laugh  died  out  of  Martin's  eyes ;  he 
looked  depressed.  He  gazed  at  Peachy  judi 
cially.  She  was  sitting  on  the  arbor  seat, 
where  the  sunlight  fell  on  her  twisting  golden 
hair.  Her  blue  eyes  were  in  shadow  ;  they 
looked  a  deeper  blue  than  usual  as  she  glanced 
up  at  Martin.  Yes,  decidedly  she  was  worth 
it.  Martin  revived.  He  began  again,  this 
time  with  a  sweet  candor. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  own  up,  as  you 
seem  to  know  all  about  it ;  but  you  might  let 
297 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

me  alone  a  little,  I  think.  It  was  hard  enough 
to  decide,  without  your  trying  to  shake  my  de 
cision  after  I  think  it  all  done.  It's  been  just 
like  playing  '  King  William,'  Peachy.  I  swear 
it  has.  You  know  how  they  play  it — asking 
what  you  want,  ices  and  cake,  or  locusts  and 
wild-honey,  or  some  such  things.  I  always  did 
hate  to  decide  ;  it  takes  me  forever.  But,  dear, 
really  this  time  I  have  chosen.  I  can't  say  I 
don't  want  the  ices  and  cake,  for  that  man 
isn't  born  who  could  say  he  didn't  want  Lydia. 
But  I  know  I  want  the  locusts  and  wild-honey 
most.  Isn't  that  enough  ?" 

Peachy  turned  away  her  head,  but  she  left 
her  hand  in  Martin's  grasp. 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  Why  don't  you 
talk  like  other  people  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  can't.  Peachy,  do  you  love  me  ? 
I'm  not  sure  I  understand  about  the  locusts 
myself,  but  I  do  know  wild-honey  when  I  see 
it  ;  and  as  for  the  taste  of  it — "  He  thought 
he  had  her  hand  at  his  lips,  but  Peachy  was 
gone.  Martin  followed  her  out  into  the  gar 
den,  and  caught  up  with  her  at  the  potato- 
patch,  where  she  lingered  a  little,  looking 
down,  frowning  at  the  stripped  stalks  and  rid 
dled  leaves  of  the  potato  plants. 

"  How's  a  man  to  prove  anything  to  you  if 
you  won't  sit  still  ?  I  say  these  modern  days 
are  hard,"  urged  Martin.  "  Here  am  I,  Mar 
tin  Pope,  pining  to  prove  my  love  for  a  wom- 
298 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

an,  and  the  only  thing  I've  been  able  to  do  for 
her  is  to  herd  geese  !  Now  if  I  could  rid  you 
of  a  dragon  or  so,  Peachy,  you'd  believe  I  loved 
you,  wouldn't  you?" 

Peachy  was  still  looking  down,  disconso 
lately.  "  I'd  a  good  deal  rather  you'd  rid  me 
of  potato-beetles.  Just  look  at  this  patch  !  I 
declare,  it  makes  me  heart-sick." 

Martin  stood  gazing  from  the  potato  plants 
to  Peachy  and  back  again.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  his  brain  worked  like  fire. 

"  Peachy,"  he  burst  out,  "  I'll  make  a  bar 
gain  with  you.  I  can't  kill  a  dragon  for  you, 
because  I  can't  find  one,  but  if  I  rid  you  of 
these  potato-bugs,  and  do  it  in  two  days'  time, 
will  you  marry  me  ?" 

Peachy  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  absurd  ?  You  couldn't 
do  it,  in  the  first  place.  Nobody  could." 

"  All  the  more  glory  if  I  do — and  the  less 
risk  for  you.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  It's  too  ridiculous  to  think 
of ;  and  then  father's  awfully  tender-hearted. 
He  won't  have  anything  on  this  farm  poisoned." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Martin,  obstinately  ;  "  if 
you'll  take  the  risk  of  marrying  me,  I  will  take 
the  risk  of  losing  you.  We'll  call  it  a  final 
test.  I'll  rid  you  of  the  potato-bugs  or — or 
Martin  Pope  by  the  mid-day  after  to-morrow 
night,  and  I  won't  use  poison  either.  Is  it  a 
bargain  ?" 

299 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Peachy  laid  her  finger  ponderingly  on  her 
lips.  They  were  half  pouting,  half  laughing, 
and  she  was  evidently  half  angry,  half  dis 
quieted.  "  How  dare  you  mix  up  love  and 
potato-bugs  !" 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Martin,  radiantly. 
"  If  that's  all  that  bothers  you,  you  haven't 
any  case  at  all  ;  for,  you  see,  you  don't  marry 
me  unless  I  kill  off  the  bugs,  and  that  disposes 
of  them  before  the  love  comes,  doesn't  it  ? 
Peachy,  don't  be  stiff-necked  about  it.  Can't 
you  see  ? — it  gives  you  a  chance  to  yield  grace 
fully,  if  you  find  you  want  to.  And  look  here, 
dear,  just  in  a  whisper  between  you  and  me  and 
the  beetles  :  if  I  lay  every  beetle  dead  at  your 
feet,  and  then  you  find  you  don't  want  me,  you 
can  kick  me  away,  and  I  won't  say  a  word. 
Only,  if  I  am  to  be  kicked,  my  dear,  I  shall 
wish  to  Heaven  that  the  foot  doing  it  wasn't 
so  extremely  tiny.  I  always  did  dote  on  a 
small  foot,  and  yours  is  the  very  smallest — 
No,  no,  Peachy.  Oh,  no,  no  !  Of  course  you 
know  it.  Then  why  have  you  called  on  me  to 
tie  your  shoestring  three  times  this  day  ?"  and 
so  on  and  so  on,  until  the  potato-beetles  seemed 
wholly  forgotten;  but  in  the  end  Martin  had 
his  way,  and  they  were  finally  made  the  pivot 
on  which  was  to  hang  his  fate  as  a  bachelor. 

On  the  day  set  for  Martin's  experiment,  the 
potato  -  patch  was  a  most  remarkable  -  looking 
field.  In  the  first  place,  about  its  not  very 
300 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

large  area  ran  a  wall  made  of  a  bolt  of  un 
bleached  muslin.  One  end  of  the  muslin  was 
tacked  neatly  to  the  trunk  of  a  flowering  plum- 
tree,  and  the  other  end  to  a  twin  brother  of  the 
tree  that  grew  but  a  few  feet  away.  Stakes 
driven  in  the  soft  earth  at  intervals  supported 
the  muslin  walls  beyond  the  trees.  The  nar 
row  space  between  the  two  trunks  was  a  natu 
ral  door.  Inside  this  enclosure  lay  rows  and 
rows  of  prostrate  potato  plants,  each  stalk 
pinned  firmly  to  the  earth  by  innumerable 
hair-pins  —  supplied  under  protest  by  Peachy. 
Furthermore,  with  the  sweat  of  unwonted  labor 
on  his  brow,  Martin  had  by  entreaties  and  ex 
hortations  so  wrought  upon  Peachy's  mind 
that  she  had  actually  lent  him  not  only  hair 
pins,  but  the  services  of  Joey,  the  hired  man  ; 
and  lastly,  when  Martin,  so  absorbed  in  his 
work  that  he  seemingly  forgot  what  was  the 
prize  he  worked  for,  rushed  into  the  house  im 
ploring,  nay,  demanding  Peachy's  added  assist 
ance,  she  really  hesitated  to  remind  him  of  the 
delicacy  of  her  position,  and  hastily  followed 
him  into  the  potato  enclosure.  There,  unques- 
tioningly,  and  for  no  possible  purpose  that 
her  imagination  could  conceive,  she  feverishly 
helped  him  and  Joey  pin  down  potato  stalks, 
running  a  race  with  the  summer  light,  and  beat 
ing  it  by  half  a  row  of  potatoes. 

"  We've   done  it !"  shouted   Martin,  rising, 
sunburnt   and    weary,   from    the    last    plant. 
301 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Peachy,  we've  as  good  as  won —  Ho,  I've — 
no— well,  it  doesn't  matter."  He  looked  hard 
at  Peachy,  and  his  eyes  suddenly  began  to 
twinkle. 

Peachy  made  no  reply.  She  walked  into  the 
house  in  silence,  and  Martin  did  not  see  her 
again  until  the  next  morning.  That  crucial 
day  found  Martin  an  excited  and  very  tired 
man.  He  had  told  Peachy  that  he  wished,  for 
the  furtherance  of  his  plans,  to  have  in  his 
hands  the  control  of  the  whole  farm  for  the 
time  being,  and  to  this  she  consented  the  more 
easily  because  there  was  no  control  to  hand 
over.  Farmer  Esip,  as  he  said,  had  his  own 
ways  of  farming.  He  did  not  know  of  the 
change  of  dictatorship,  because  a  county  fair 
had  required  all  his  attention  from  noon  to 
night  the  previous  day;  but  on  the  fateful 
morning,  after  early  breakfast,  from  which  Mar 
tin  was  absent,  he  sought  Peachy,  hidden  in 
the  cool  recesses  of  the  dairy,  and  announced, 
from  the  open  door : 

"  Honey,  maybe  you  don't  hold  it  cruel  to 
starve  dumb  folks,  but  I  do.  I  don't  say  it 
wasn't  smart,  but  I  do  say  it  was  bitter  hard  on 
the  fowls,  and  hard  on  the  beetles  too.  There's 
nothin'  that's  more  a  lesson  to  me  than  perta- 
ter-bugs — busy  as  yaller jackets  all  the  time, 
eatin',  breedin',  workin',  trudgin'  all  the  way 
from  Colorado  to  here,  and  nobody  wantin*  'em 
there  or  here  or  anywhere.  There's  such  a 
302 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

thing  as  bein'  entirely  too  enterprisin'.  All  the 
way  from  Colorado  to  here  to  be  eat  up  by 
ducks  and  geese  and  hens  and  keats  and  tur 
keys  !  There  won't  be  a  bug  in  that  field  by 
noon." 

"  Peachy  !"  It  was  Martin's  voice  at  the 
doorway.  A  great  pan  of  milk  slipped  from 
Peachy's  hands,  and  a  white  wave  splashed 
across  the  floor  to  Martin's  feet. 

"  My  soul,  honey!"  said  Mr.  Esip,  and  Peachy 
sat  down  on  the  milk -bench  and  burst  into 
mingled  tears  and  laughter.  "  What's  a  pan  o' 
milk  ?"  said  her  father,  wondering.  "  'Cept  for 
the  trouble  o'  wipin'  it  up.  It's  nasty  to  clean 
up,  milk  is.  I  guess  you've  been  in  this  dark 
hole  too  long,  honey ;  I'll  tend  to  this  mop- 
pin'.  Take  her  to  the  pertater  -  patch,  Mr. 
Pope,  and  show  her  what's  goin'  on.  It's  a 
murderous  sight,  but  it's  mighty  interestin'. 
I  don't  know  how  you  ever  thought  o'  such  a 
thing." 

Peachy  stood  between  the  two  flowering 
plum-trees  and  looked  into  the  enclosure. 
There,  scrambling  from  prostrate  vine  to  vine, 
cackling,  crowing,  gobbling,  quacking,  hissing, 
but  eating  beetles  all  the  time  as  if  life  de 
pended  on  hurry,  was  every  beaked  creature 
on  the  farm,  a  great  flock,  including  the  jacket 
ed  geese.  The  noise  was  deafening. 

"  They've  had  nothing  to  eat,  nothing  at  all, 
for  twenty -four  hours,"  said  Martin,  compla- 
303 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

cently.  "You  see,  I  remembered  that  there 
were  more  fowls  on  this  farm  than  anything 
else,  including  potato  vines.  It  was  a  simple 
question  in  arithmetic  and  hunger." 

Peachy  stood  staring  for  a  moment,  then 
she  suddenly  began  to  laugh  ;  she  laughed  un 
til  the  tears  ran  down  her  face,  and  she  had  to 
lean  against  the  trunk  of  the  plum-tree  for  sup 
port.  Martin  regarded  her  anxiously. 

"  It's  nothing,"  gasped  Peachy,  wiping  her 
eyes,  "only  it's  so  absurd.  Don't  you  know 
how  to  be  anything  else  ?" 

"  I  must  have  worked  you  too  hard  yester 
day,"  said  Martin,  tenderly.  He  spread  his 
coat  under  one  of  the  plum-trees  and  insisted 
that  Peachy  should  rest  upon  it,  while  he  lay 
at  her  feet,  resting  also.  Joey,  his  eyes  popped 
with  amazement,  stood  in  the  plum-tree  door 
way.  Thus  they  watched  the  murder  of  the 
beetles. 

Mr.  Esip  was  right ;  before  the  clock  struck 
twelve  those  beetles  were  no  more  ;  or,  rather, 
so  few  remained  in  the  patch  that  it  would 
have  been  hypercritical  to  mention  their  exist 
ence.  At  Martin's  word,  Joey  drove  the  re 
plete  fowls  from  the  enclosure  and  away  to  the 
barn-yard,  while  Martin  himself  rolled  up  the 
muslin.  It  was  a  long  white  bundle  when  he 
brought  it  back  to  Peachy,  now  standing  un 
der  the  plum-tree,  and  laid  it  at  her  feet. 

"  Here  is  the  shroud  of  the  beetles,"  he  said, 
304 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

significantly,  as  he  bent  one  knee  on  the  mus 
lin  and  bowed  his  head,  waiting. 

"Can't  you  be  sensible  for  once?"  said 
Peachy.  There  was  something  wistful  in  her 
tone,  though  she  was  laughing. 

"  No,  I  can't.  This  is  the  way  I  am  made ; 
and  if  you  like  me  at  all,  you  ought  to  like 
what  I  am." 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  said  Peachy. 

Martin  looked  up  quickly.  For  a  brief  mo 
ment  his  face  was  as  serious  as  could  have  been 
asked.  Then  he  saw  Peachy's  irrepressible 
blushes  and  dimples  against  the  white  blossoms 
above  her.  Martin's  gaze  was  fixed  upward  ad 
miringly. 

"  By  George  !  if  women  knew  how  becoming 
a  flowering  plum-tree  is,  there'd  be  one  grow 
ing  in  every  drawing-room." 

But  Peachy  turned  her  head  away.  "  Couldn't 
you  just  —  just  for  one  moment  be  like  other 
people  ?" 

"  Suppose  I  was — " 

"  Why,  then  " — a  hesitating  sigh,  half  serious, 
half  comical — "  why,  then — I  might —  If  only," 
she  cried  out  — "  if  only  I  were  sure  about 
Lydia  !" 

"  I  know  just  how  you  feel,"  said  Martin,  with 
sympathy.  "  I  was  just  that  way  myself." 

There  were  no  more  blushes  and  smiles  un 
der  the  plum-tree. 

"I  think,"  said  Peachy,  haughtily,  "that  this 
u  305 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

had  better  end.  I  don't  really  care  for  you, 
Mr.  Pope,  and  won't  pretend  I  do.  I  wish  you'd 
stop  kneeling  there.  Perhaps  Lydia — " 

"  There  she  is  now  !"  said  Martin. 

Yes,  there  she  was,  sitting  in  a  carriage  that 
was  slowly  passing  the  farm-house.  By  her  side 
was  an  old  friend  of  Martin's.  They  both  beck 
oned  to  him.  The  carriage  stopped,  and  Mar 
tin  sprang  up  and  ran  out  into  the  road. 
Peachy  watched  them  from  the  garden,  saw 
them  talking  earnestly,  and  then  Martin  sud 
denly  began  shaking  the  hand  of  one  and  the 
other,  then  the  other  and  the  one,  over  and 
over.  At  last  they  drove  off,  and  Martin  came 
slowly  back  to  the  garden. 

"  They're  engaged,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  Lydia's 
engaged  to  my  best  friend.  She  told  me  her 
self.  She  said  you  looked  like  one  of  those  plum 
blossoms  dropped  from  the  tree.  Lydia  never 
was  mean.  I  always  said  that  for  her.  Now 
she's  engaged." 

"What  did  you  say  to  her?"  asked  Peachy. 
Her  voice  was  forced,  but  Martin  seemed  not 
to  notice  it.  His  gloom  deepened. 

"  I  told  her  you  were  a  heartless  girl.  Haven't 
you  let  me  do  everything  to  win  you — from 
herding  geese  to  killing  potato -bugs?  And 
now  you  say  calmly  you  don't  care  anything 
for  me.  I  believe  you  have  been  laughing  at 
me  all  the  time." 

"  Did  you  tell  Lydia  that  too  ?" 
306 


AN  ENTOMOLOGICAL  WOOING 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Martin,  savagely.  "  I  told 
her  you  had  ruined  my  life — and  you  have  ; 
that  you  didn't  care  a  pin  for  me,  and  you 
never  had,  and  you  never  would.  I  told  her 
all  that  too." 

"  You  did  ?     Oh,  Martin,  I  love  you  !" 

Peachy  was  stretching  out  her  hands  to 
him  with  a  dazzling  smile  and  fascinating 
abandon. 

"  I  do  love  you,"  she  repeated. 

Martin  turned  with  a  smile  as  radiant  and  a 
laughing  triumph  in  his  eyes. 

"  There  !"  he  cried.  "  I  knew  that  would  set 
tle  it !  Of  course  we  love  each  other."  And 
they  did — in  their  way. 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

"  I  DON'T  know  why  any  of  us  ever  expected 
anything  different,"  said  Lydia.  "  Nothing  of 
a  usual  nature  ever  happens  to  them.  Why 
shouldn't  their  baby  be  a  freak  child  ?" 

"  Lydia,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  under  all  the  cir 
cumstances  that's  not  a  wise  way  for  you  to 
talk  of  the  Popes.  If  you  had  said  that  to  any 
one  but  me,  it  might  have  been  thought  you 
had  some  private  animus." 

"I  wasn't  saying  it  to  any  one  but  you,  and 
if  you  mean  any  one  might  think  I  wanted 
Martin  Pope  myself,  why  I  certainly  did,  and 
would  have  had  him,  too,  if  Peachy's  geese 
hadn't  saved  Rome.  The  way  they  altered 
events  was  a  salvation  for  us  all,  wasn't  it  ?" 
and  Lydia  turned  on  me  one  of  those  glances 
that  are  still  her  own,  and  hers  only. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  I  said  ;  "you 
melt  me  like  butter.  You  can't  call  the  Pope 
baby  a  freak.  It  isn't  one.  It's  only  phenom 
enally  tiny." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  Martin  had  been  both 
ered  out  of  his  life  by  enterprising  showmen  ?" 
308 


THE  QUARTER   LOAF 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  had  some  startling  offers  for 
the  child — humiliatingly  startling." 

Lydia  began  to  laugh  provokingly. 

"  And  then  you  tell  me  it's  not  a  freak  baby." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  not  a  freak,"  I  retorted, 
warmly.  "  It's  only  very  undersized,  and  it's 
not  nice  of  you  to  laugh  at  the  poor  thing's 
misfortune.  Probably  they  are  thinking  a  half 
loaf  is  better  than  no  bread." 

Lydia  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  I  be 
gan  to  repent  of  my  harshness,  for  we  ourselves 
had  no  offspring  of  any  size.  "  I  might  put  up 
with  half  a  loaf,"  she  said,  at  last,  as  if  consid 
ering  the  matter,  "  but  a  quarter  loaf,  and  par 
ticularly  a  quarter-loaf  baby,  I  never  could 
stand.  Why,  I  really  never  remember  hearing 
of  a  freak  baby  in  one's  own  class  of  life  ;  did 
you,  dear?" 

"  No,  dear,"  I  said,  meekly,  "  I  never  did  un 
til  Martin's  freak  baby  came."  Then  we  looked 
at  each  other  and  laughed.  The  train  was 
drawing  us  into  a  station  of  the  town  where 
the  Popes  were  then  living.  It  was  this  cir 
cumstance  that  had  turned  our  thoughts  to 
them  and  their  affairs. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  said  Lydia,  gen 
erous  when  her  point  was  gained.  "  It's  only 
a  preternaturally  small  child,  and  not  a  freak 
at  all.  Why,  do  look  !  Isn't  that  Mr.  Pope 
now?  The  one  with  the  little  champagne- 
basket  in  his  arms.  It  is  Mr.  Pope." 
309 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

I  looked  where  she  directed.  Yes,  there  was 
but  one  Martin  Pope,  and  that  was  he.  As  I 
saw  him  I  burst  out  laughing  shamelessly. 

"  My  dear  Lydia,  as  sure  as  you  live,  he's  got 
the  baby  in  that  basket."  Lydia  pressed  her 
nose  flat  against  the  glass  in  her  eagerness. 

"  Why  it  can't  be  !  yes,  he  is  carrying  it  as 
if  he  had  something  alive  in  it.  Oh,  nonsense, 
it's  his  cat  or  a  dog." 

"  Look  behind  him,"  said  I.  "  Does  that  go 
with  a  cat  or  a  dog  ?"  Close  on  Martin's  heels, 
and  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  little  basket  walked 
an  evident  nurse-maid,  cap,  apron,  anxious  air, 
and  all. '  Lydia  flung  herself  back  in  her  seat 
and  choked  with  laughter. 

"  Oh,  if  it  were  anybody  but  Martin  Pope  it 
would  have  a  chance  to  be  pitiful.  But  it's  so 
— it's  so  distractingly  appropriate.  How  can 
I  help  laughing  ?"  cried  Lydia. 

I  certainly  could  not  show  her  how  to  help 
it.  Indeed  there  had  been  something  too  ex 
quisitely  ridiculous,  though  what  we  could  not 
exactly  state,  even  to  ourselves,  in  that  pass 
ing  glimpse  of  Martin  paternally  hugging  a 
champagne-basket,  and  followed  by  a  nurse. 
It  was  not  until  the  train  had  steamed  out  of 
the  station  that  we  recovered  nerve. 

"  Well,"  said  Lydia,  "  I  see  now  what  a  far- 
seeing  genius  a  showman  is.  I  should  have 
said  I  dreaded  nothing  more  than  having  Mr. 
Pope  come  into  this  car  with  his — I  don't  know 
310 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

what  to  call  it  exactly — and  now  I  am  con 
sumed  with  an  unholy  and  unquenchable  curi 
osity  to  see  inside  that  basket." 

Absurd  as  Martin  had  looked  in  that  passing 
glimpse,  the  old-time  friendship  had  stirred 
warmly  in  my  heart  at  sight  of  him. 

"  Lydia,"  I  said,  irritably,  "  I  do  wish  you 
would  stop  talking  in  that  way.  I  tell  you. 
Martin's  child  is  only  undersized.  He  wrote 
me  that  it  might  take  a  start  and  grow  any 
day." 

Lydia  stared  at  me.  "Well,  if  you  aren't 
unreasonable.  As  if  you  didn't  laugh  too." 

"  I  knew  where  to  stop.  When  you  insist 
on  laughing  at  everything  and  everybody,  it 
makes  you  extremely  difficult  to  deal — " 

"  Then  why  don't  you  shuffle  me  ?"  inter 
rupted  Lydia,  with  imperturbable  good-humor. 

"  I  prefer  to  cut  you  at  present,"  I  retorted, 
and  then  I  whirled  my  chair  around  with  ju 
dicious  haste  before  she  could  possibly  reply. 

The  sharp  movement  swung  me  a  little  too 
far  ;  so  much  so  that  before  I  could  stop  my 
self  my  foot  had  struck  smartly  against  the 
knee-cap  of  a  man  who  was  hurriedly  entering 
the  compartment  carrying  a  little  glass  of 
white  liquid  in  his  hand.  The  blow  felled  him 
instantly.  The  glass  and  the  liquid  landed  in 
Lydia's  lap,  where  the  man  himself  would  have 
followed  but  that  Lydia,  with  her  wonted 
promptness,  caught  his  arm  and  held  him  up. 
3" 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

Before  I  could  pick  up  the  debris  of  my  own 
scattered  wits  or  come  to  my  wife's  rescue,  I 
heard  her  high,  cool  voice. 

"Walk  right  in,  Mr.  Pope,"  she  said,  pleas 
antly.  "  Walk  right  in.  Milk  ?  Yes,  I  sup 
posed  so.  It  doesn't  make  the  least  difference. 
My  dear,  aren't  you  going  to  apologize  to  Mr. 
Pope  ?" 

Apologize  !  Martin  and  I  were  on  each  oth 
er's  neck,  and  not  altogether  metaphorically 
either. 

"  You'd  like  to  see  the  baby,  wouldn't  you  ?" 
said  Martin,  beamingly.  He  was  still  affec 
tionately  holding  my  hand,  and  I  feared  he 
would  surely  feel  my  apprehensive  start.  I 
looked  quickly  at  Lydia,  and  saw  an  honestly 
frightened  look  on  her  usually  composed  feat 
ures.  I  felt  much  the  same  way  myself. 

"  I  was  getting  some  water  to  weaken  her 
milk  when  I  met  your  foot,"  said  Martin. 
"  She's  in  the  end  compartment  with  her  nurse. 
Don't  you  want  to  go  back  with  me  now  and 
see  her — both  of  you  ?" 

Lydia  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  convul 
sively,  looking  up  to  me  with  imploring  eyes, 
but  I  braced  her  with  a  glance. 

"  Yes,  indeed  we  do,"  I  said,  cheerfully  :  "  of 
course  we  do.  Come,  Lydia,"  and  I  dragged 
my  wife  to  her  feet  and  drove  her  before  me 
and  after  Martin,  heartily  wishing  that  there 
was  some  strong  man  back  of  me  again  to  per- 
312 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

form  for  me  a  like  office.     Martin  led  us  to  the 
door  of  the  compartment,  chatting  all  the  way. 

"  Just  excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  said,  over 
his  shoulder ;  "  I'll  see  if  she  looks  nice,"  and  he 
slipped  within  the  door,  closing  it  after  him. 

"  Now  run,"  said  Lydia,  turning  and  pushing 
me  back  with  both  hands.  "  I  can't  go  in 
there — I  can't,  and  I  won't." 

"You  must,"  I  said,  sternly,  but  my  own 
heart  was  beating  with  an  absurd  force. 

"  If  you  make  me  look  at  it,  it's  ten  to  one 
I'll  laugh  right  out.  We  can't  risk  it." 

I  set  my  teeth.  "  In  we  go,"  I  said,  "  and  if 
we  laugh  we  laugh." 

Lydia  collapsed  in  my  hands. 

"  Then  hold  my  hand  tight,"  she  said.  "  I'm 
just  as  crazy  as  ever  to  see  it,  but  I'd  give  all 
I  possess  to  be  able  to  run  away." 

I  grasped  her  hand  in  mine,  and  the  door 
opened  for  us.  My  own  position  was  not  easy. 
Martin  was  an  old  and  dear  friend,  and  the 
next  moment  might  separate  us  forever. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  anything  about  baby's 
size  ?"  asked  Martin  of  Lydia  as  we  entered. 

"  I  told  Lydia  that  the  baby  was  small,"  I 
said,  weakly. 

"Small!"  said  Martin,  scornfully;  "do  you 
call  that  small?"  He  turned  and  lifted  a  light 
veil  that  covered  the  little  champagne-basket, 
and  there  lay  something  that  brought  Lydia 
with  a  rush  to  her  knees  beside  it. 
313 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Oh !"  she  cried.     "  Oh  !" 

"That's  what  I  knew  you'd  say,"  said  Mar 
tin.  "  Now  don't  wake  it.  The  last  person 
that  saw  it  I  sent  into  the  nursery  alone,  and 
she  came  out  and  said  the  baby  wasn't  there — 
there  was  only  a  French  doll  in  the  crib." 

"  Doll !"  said  Lydia,  scornfully  ;  "  there  never 
was  a  doll  in  the  world  like  this." 

I  peered  gingerly  over  her  shoulder  and  saw 
something  that  neither  small  nor  doll  ade 
quately  described.  It  was  a  baby  so  tiny  that 
one  hardly  dared  breathe  lest  it  might  be  blown 
away,  and  yet  it  was  so  perfect  and  plump  and 
rosy,  a  microscopic  vision,  that  I  held  my 
breath  for  quite  another  reason. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Lydia  again,  "  do  you  think  it 
will  have  to  grow  ?" 

"Not  for  some  time,  I  hope,"  said  Martin, 
delightedly,  "  though  she  may  take  a  start  and 
grow  any  day.  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish  about 
it,  though  personally  she  fascinates  me  just  as 
she  is.  But  she  wouldn't  like  it  herself,  you 
know,  as  she  grows  older.  It  wouldn't  do  at 
all  to  keep  on  carrying  her  in  a  closed  basket, 
and  that's  what  has  to  be  or  she'd  draw  a  mob  ; 
and  besides  there  are  other  dangers."  His 
whisper  grew  solemn.  "Do  you  know,  that 
little  thing  is  worth  thousands  as  she  lies 
there.  We  are  in  constant  terror  of  her  being 
stolen.  She's  never  left  a  moment  alone,  day 
or  night,  and  I  have  to  take  a  whole  compart- 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

ment  for  her  when  we  travel.   The  smaller  they 
come  the  more  they  cost — like  Blue  Points." 

"Get  me  out  of  this  quickly,"  breathed  a 
smothered  voice  in  my  ear.  I  looked  down, 
and  on  seeing  my  wife's  face,  acted  hastily. 
A  chair  that  was  not  secured  to  the  floor  was 
near  me,  and  I  kicked  it  over.  The  wee-est 
and  the  most  fairylike  of  screams  immediately 
pierced  the  air.  Martin  rushed  to  the  cham 
pagne-basket,  and  Lydia  and  I  fled. 

When  we  were  once  more  installed  in  our 
own  chairs  outside,  I  looked  over  at  my  wife. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  what  were  you  going  to  do 
in  there,  please  —  laugh,  or  cry,  or  faint?  I 
couldn't  tell  which." 

"  Neither  could  I,"  said  Lydia,  from  the 
depths  of  her  handkerchief.  "  It  was  the  most 
serio-comic  thing  I  ever  went  through.  Why, 
he  loves  it  dearly.  And  yet  I  know  he's  going 
to  exhibit  it  sooner  or  later.  I  know  it.  He 
couldn't  be  Martin  Pope  and  not  do  it." 

"  Exhibit  it !"  I  repeated,  amazed  and  indig 
nant.  "How  could  Martin  do  such  a  thing?" 

"  He  couldn't,"  whimpered  Lydia,  "  and  that's 
why  I  am  so  sure  it  '11  be  done.  He  never 
yet  did  anything  he  could.  It  makes  me  feel 
dreadfully  to  think  of  that  lovely  little  baby  in 
a  show." 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  I  said,  severely  ;  and  then, 
resorting  to  Martin's  formula,  "  Evidently  the 
child  is  soon  to  take  a  start  and  grow." 
315 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

"  You  only  have  Mr.  Pope's  word  for  that,' 
said  Lydia,  emerging  from  the  cambric.  "  Mark 
my  words,  that  child  will  live  to  be  exhib 
ited." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,"  I  answered ;  and, 
as  usual,  Lydia's  way  it  went,  though  not  quite 
as  even  she  had  expected  it  to  go. 

There  was  something  wrong  with  the  Popes. 
Lydia  recognized  that  there  was,  and  so  did  I ; 
but  neither  of  us  could  imagine  what  it  might 
be.  They  had  moved  to  the  metropolis  where 
we  lived  shortly  after  our  meeting  in  the  cars, 
but  though  they  had  spent  the  whole  winter 
not  many  squares  away  from  our  house,  the 
families  saw  little  of  each  other.  Women  can 
make  distance  as  absence  and  absence  as  dis 
tance  in  questions  of  family  intimacy.  Martin 
and  I  met,  as  it  were,  by  stealth  now  and  then  ; 
but  there  could  be  little  real  intercourse.  Then 
one  day  late  in  the  winter  Mrs.  Pope  herself 
suddenly  appeared  in  my  office.  I  am  not 
using  the  word  suddenly  in  any  rhetorical 
sense  ;  it  was  a  fact  that  I  looked  up  from  my 
writing  to  find  her  sitting  by  my  desk. 

"Mr.  Griffin,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "did  you 
ever  have  an  obsession  ?  Do  you  know  what 
they  are  ?" 

"  Not  as   well   as   you    must,"  I   answered. 

"  When  I  want  occult  or  psychic  information 

I  know  to  which  sex  to  go  for  it  in  these  days. 

To  what  cult  do  you  belong,  may  I  ask  ?     My 

316 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

wife  belongs  to  five."  But  Peachy  was  not  to 
be  dashed. 

"  I  only  found  out  about  obsessions  the  other 
day,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  I  have  one.  That's 
what  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about." 

I  looked  anxiously  at  Peachy's  flushed  and 
pretty  features,  but  could  not  find  there  or  in 
her  innocent  eyes  anything  to  justify  alarm. 

"  There  are  all  kinds  of  obsessions,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  one  is  a  kind  that  makes  you 
want  all  the  time,  and  want  dreadfully,  to  do 
something  that  you  know  you  ought  not  to  do 
at  all,  and  wouldn't  do  for  the  world  if  you 
could  help  yourself  ;  but  you  can't.  My  ob 
session  is  wanting  to  exhibit  the  baby." 

It  was  not  unnatural  that  I  should  have 
started  in  my  chair  and  exclaimed  aloud  be 
fore  I  could  control  or  check  myself,  but  as 
she  heard  me  two  great  tears  rose  in  Peachy's 
eyes  and  rolled  down  her  face. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Pope,"  I  said,  taking  her 
hand  in  mine,  "  Martin  is  the  dearest  friend  I 
have  in  the  world.  Now  what  can  I  do  for 
his  wife?"  By  which  words  it  will  be  seen 
that  an  ardent  appreciation  of  feminine  emo 
tion  does  make  me  lose  my  head  in  a  crisis. 

"  You  are  very  kind.  I  knew  you  would  be 
when  I  came  to  you,"  said  Peachy,  wiping  her 
eyes.  "You  see,  the  temptation  is  terrible.  We 
do  need  money  so  horribly." 

I  breathed  easily  again.  It  was  nothing 
317 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

abnormal  after  all,  but  a  complaint  more  or 
less  common  to  all  flesh.  How  they  had  con 
trived  to  attain  such  a  position  with  Martin's 
known  means  of  supply  was  what  I  could  not 
comprehend,  though  he  spent  money  like  wa 
ter.  Peachy  explained  it  all  to  me.  It  seemed 
that  Martin  was  most  peculiarly  placed.  He 
had  no  income.  His  moneys  dropped  in  to 
him  not  yearly,  but  in  large  lump  sums  at  ir 
regular  intervals,  wholly  contingent  on  his 
good  behavior.  The  bulk  of  his  property  was 
to  be  handed  over  to  him  on  his  thirtieth 
year,  which  was  not  far  off,  if  before  that  date 
Martin  had  not  contrived  to  disgrace  the  fam 
ily  name.  In  the  latter  case  he  was  to  re 
ceive  nothing.  The  full  power  of  disburse 
ment  and  dispossession  lay  in  the  hands  of  an 
eccentric  old  uncle  of  Martin's,  and  the  will 
was  made  by  Martin's  father.  After  this  hear 
ing  it  did  not  seem  to  me  difficult  to  account 
for  Martin's  peculiarities.  In  the  past  I  had 
always  tried  to  lay  them  at  the  door  of  his 
artistic  genius,  but  that  had  not  adequately 
supported  them.  This  explanation  did. 

"  You  see  now,"  said  Peachy,  "  how  impor 
tant  it  is  for  us  that  Martin  should  be  able  to 
meet  a  note  for  five  thousand  dollars  that  will 
fall  due  to-morrow.  If  we  don't  meet  it,  Uncle 
Pope  may  call  that  a  disgrace.  One  of  the 
hard  things  about  Father  Pope's  will  has  been 
that  Martin  never  knows  what  Uncle  Pope  may 
318 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

call  a  disgrace.  He  wasn't  sure  he  wouldn't 
be  angry  at  his  marrying  me  ;  and  then,  when 
the  baby  came  and  was  so  little,  we  were 
afraid  he  might  call  that  disgraceful.  Martin 
says  he  knows  he'll  call  it  perfectly  disgraceful 
and  extravagant  for  us  to  have  a  note  falling 
due  for  five  thousand  dollars  to-morrow  and 
nothing  ready  to  meet  it.  Do  you  think  he 
will  ?" 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I'm  afraid  he  might  view  it 
so." 

"  We  can  scrape  about  one  thousand  dollars 
together,"  sighed  Peachy,  "  and  that's  all." 

"  Of  course,  under  the  circumstances,"  I  said, 
"  you  can't  call  on  your  uncle  for  an  advance, 
as  you  don't  want  him  to  know  your  need, 
but  I  should  think  it  would  be  easy  enough  to 
arrange  for  an  advance  of  four  thousand  dol 
lars  from  any  one  on  such  expectations  as 
Martin  has.  It's  pretty  late  in  the  day,  but  I 
think  I  can  negotiate  a  loan  for  him  by  noon 
to-morrow." 

"Why,  no,  you  can't,"  said  Peachy,  practi 
cally,  "because  we  haven't  any  security  to 
offer." 

"  Well,  I  can  only  try,"  I  said,  at  last.  "  I 
wish  I  had  the  money  myself,  Mrs.  Pope." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you  hadn't  a  cent,  or  I  wouldn't 
have  come  to  you,"  said  Peachy,  with  delight 
ful  frankness.  "  I'm  afraid  you  think  we  have 
been  awfully  extravagant  ;  but,  you  see  Mar- 
319 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

tin  miscalculated.  He  thought  we  had  plenty 
to  last  until  he  was  1,hirty,  but  it  all  seemed  to 
go  suddenly.  You  know  how  it  is  with  money. 
And  then  the  baby's  an  awful  expense.  We 
have  to  guard  her  so  carefully.  She  is  watched 
all  day,  and  we  keep  a  night  nurse  sitting  up 
with  her  with  the  door  locked  on  the  inside. 
I  suppose  it's  foolish,  but  we  still  keep  getting 
such  offers  for  the  poor  little  thing  it  makes  us 
awfully  nervous." 

"  I  don't  call  it  foolish  at  all,"  I  replied.  "  I 
should  go  still  further  and  keep  the  nursery 
door  bolted  on  the  outside,  and  the  key  in  my 
own  pocket.  A  nurse  might  be  unfaithful. 
But  you  haven't  told  me  about  your  own  ex 
hibiting  obsession,  Mrs.  Pope."  Peachy  looked 
a  little  embarrassed. 

"  Well,  I  really  haven't  one,  you  know.  I 
just  said  that  to  open  the  conversation.  I 
didn't  know  how  to  open  a  business  talk,  and 
so  I  tried  to  think  how  my  husband  would 
probably  begin,  and  that's  about  the  way  I 
thought  he  would.  You  won't  tell  any  one  I 
came  to  you,  will  you  ?  I  got  desperate  after 
Martin  left  me  to-day,  so  I  came  to  you  my 
self." 

"  Of  course  I'll  do  all  I  can,  but  don't  feel  too 
hopeful,"  I  answered.  "  Expect  me  at  your 
house  rather  late.  I  shall  be  kept  very  late 
at  the  office  to-night." 

But  I  did  not  keep  my  promise  of  going  to 
320 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

the  Popes  that  night,  because,  just  as  I  was 
preparing  to  seek  them  with  the  distressing 
news  that  I  had  nothing  and  could  get  noth 
ing  for  them,  my  office  door  burst  open  and 
Peachy  hurried  in,  crying  like  a  hurt  child. 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  sobbed,  trembling,  and 
drawing  forth  from  under  her  wide  cloak  a 
tiny  basket.  In  its  depths  I  recognized  the 
infinitesimal  hope  of  the  Pope  family,  sound 
asleep  as  usual.  And  then  I  saw  a  strange 
sight.  I  had  in  my  varied  experience  seen 
maternal  emotion  lavished  on  a  fair  -  sized 
child,  but  in  this  case  I  was  to  see  what  was 
more  like  going  through  with  the  motions 
than  anything  else.  The  baby  was  far  too 
small  to  receive  Peachy's  wild  caresses,  and 
the  basket  got  the  most  of  them. 

"  Oh,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Pope,  "  she's  been  exhib 
ited  every  night  for  weeks  and  weeks  —  ever 
since  we've  been  in  this  city  !  My  baby,  my 
little,  little  baby.  Oh,  that  wicked  woman  ! 
If  you  hadn't  suggested  it  I'd  never  have 
thought  of  it.  You  saved  my  baby."  And 
down  she  went  on  her  knees  and  kissed  my 
hand. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Pope,"  I  said,  "  do  get  up 
and  tell  me  what  has  happened."  But  Peachy 
was  sitting  on  the  floor  by  the  basket  examin 
ing  that  sleeping  little  Quarter  Loaf  all  over 
to  its  very  finger-nails,  and  would  not  answer 
until  she  had  assured  herself  that  in  every 
x  321 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

particular  it  was  exactly  as  it  should  be — ex 
cept  for  size. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  sighed,  at  last.  "  I've  let 
the  woman  go,  but  I  hope  you  won't  think  it 
weak  of  me.  She  was  dreadfully  frightened, 
and  she  was  only  that  wretched  man's  tool. 
He  confessed  that  himself.  He  was  dreadful 
ly  frightened  too.  I'm  afraid  I  made  a  terri 
ble  scene." 

By  slow  degrees  I  came  to  understand  what 
had  happened.  My  words  of  the  morning  had 
roused  Peachy's  fears,  and  on  that  night,  af 
ter  the  baby  and  night  nurse  were  seemingly 
locked  in  together,  she  had  gone  to  the  nur 
sery  door  and  demanded  entrance,  obtained  it 
with  difficulty,  and  the  baby  was  gone  from 
the  cradle.  I  could  imagine  that  Mrs.  Pope 
might  be  quite  formidable,  when  roused,  in  the 
way  that  a  brooding  bird  is  formidable  if  its 
young  are  attacked.  Apparently  she  had  flown 
at  the  nurse  with  such  fury  that  the  woman 
confessed  all  on  the  spot.  She  had  been 
hiring  the  baby  to  a  showman  for  an  hour  or 
so  each  night,  smuggling  it  out  of  the  house 
to  one  of  his  myrmidons  and  back  again  un 
noticed. 

"  I  made  her  get  in  a  carriage  with  me,"  said 

.Mrs.  Pope,  "and  drive  right  to  the  show,  and 

I  rushed  in  and  grabbed  up  my  baby  and  ran 

in  here  with  it.     It's  right  around  the  corner 

from  here,  a  miserable  poor  little  show  !     Oh, 

322 


THE  QUARTER  LOAF 

my  little  abused  baby  !"  And  she  fell  to  kissing 
the  basket  again. 

Now  I  have  not  lived  as  a  legal  adviser  in 
my  native  town  some  forty  odd  years  and  read 
three  newspapers  daily  for  nothing,  so  what 
Mrs.  Pope  said  opened  a  window  in  my  mind 
and  let  in  light  upon  some  old  newspaper  in 
formation  stored  there. 

"  Round  the  corner,  did  you  say,  Mrs.  Pope  ?" 
I  asked.  "Was  the  show  called  the  '  Eureka,' 
and  did  it  have  life-size  portraits  of  all  kinds  of 
freaks  outside  the  door  ?" 

Peachy  shuddered  her  assent,  drawing  her 
baby  closer,  but  I  had  no  time  to  mince  words 
just  then. 

"My  dear  lady,"  I  said,  "the  man  that  owns 
that  show  owns  dozens  like  it  in  as  many 
towns.  That's  his  horrid  business  and  it 
yields  him  enormous  profits,  on  which  he 
lives  in  this  city.  His  offence  against  you  is 
a  serious  one,  and  it's  not  his  first  offence  of 
the  kind  either.  It  would  go  hard  with  him  if 
he  were  hauled  up.  Did  you  promise  his  show 
man  anything?" 

"  I  ?  Good  gracious,  no.  They  were  prom 
ising  me  everything,  and  I  just  ran  away  from 
them  all  as  I  told  you." 

"  Where's  Martin  ?" 

"  Out  trying  to  collect  that  wretched  four 
thousand  ;  he'll  never  get  it." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  he  won't,  but  he  may  have  it 
323 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

gotten  for  him."  I  disengaged  Mrs.  Pope  from 
the  baby  and  led  her  to  my  desk.  "  Now  sign 
this,"  I  said,  and  a  moment  later  I  had  her 
name  tremulously  written  beneath  these  words : 
"  Mr.  Griffin  is  fully  empowered  to  act  for  me 
in  this  matter." 

Now  what  I  did  with  this  slip  of  paper  I 
shall  never  tell.  It's  not  a  transaction  that  I 
am  proud  of,  and  as  a  struggling  lawyer  it  is 
not  an  episode  that  I  care  to  publish.  It  was 
a  fair  case  both  of  love  and  war — love  for  Mar 
tin  and  war  for  the  showman.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  I  drove  away  furiously  in  Mrs.  Pope's 
carriage,  bidding  her  wait  for  me  in  my  office  ; 
and  when  I  at  last  came  back  to  her  I  had  in 
my  hand  another  bit  of  paper,  oblong  in  shape, 
which  I  did  not  show  to  Mrs.  Pope.  I  locked 
it  away  carefully  in  my  desk,  and  for  it  sub 
stituted  a  check  torn  from  my  own  check 
book,  and  made  out  for  the  sum  of  four  thou 
sand  dollars.  With  this  I  turned  to  Martin's 
wife. 

"  I  have  been  more  successful  in  raising  that 
sum  we  were  talking  of  to-day  than  I  thought 
I  could  be,"  I  said,  "  and  here  it  is,  Mrs.  Pope ; 
you  can  tell  Martin  that  those  who  sent  it  to 
him  didn't  want  their  names  to  appear.  They 
feel  themselves  under  obligations  to  him,  and 
are  glad  of  the  chance  to  settle  them.  He  can 
pay  the  money  back  when  he  is  thirty  years 
old  if  he  then  wants  to,  but  there's  no  need 
324 


THE   QUARTER   LOAF 

whatever  to  do  so."  I  held  out  the  check, 
which  Mrs.  Pope  took  from  me  in  an  absent- 
minded  way.  She  was  hanging  over  the  baby 
with  an  eager  interest  on  her  face. 

"  Have  you  an  inch  measure  here  ?"  she  ask 
ed,  with  such  suppressed  excitement  in  her  tone 
that  I  knew  something  important  was  about  to 
happen. 

I  produced  the  measure,  and  with  evidently 
practised  fingers  Peachy  lifted  that  mite  of  a 
baby  and  .laid  it  flat  on  my  desk,  face  down. 
Then  she  measured  its  back  from  end  to 
end.  I  bent  over  the  measure  as  eagerly  as 
she. 

"  Has  it  taken  that  start  ?"  I  asked  ;  and  as 
she  saw  the  figure  reached  by  the  back  of  the 
baby's  little  heel,  Peachy  dropped  the  measure 
and  looked  up  at  me,  with  her  big  eyes  swim 
ming  in  tears. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Griffin !"  she  cried. 

What  had  come  to  pass  may  be  gathered 
from  a  little  scene  that  took  place  one  day  not 
many  years  later,  when  my  wife  and  I  met 
Peachy  and  her  first-born  walking  together  on 
the  street. 

"  Lydia,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  look ;  yon's  the 
Quarter  Loaf";  and  Lydia  walked  straight  up 
to  the  pair  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  daugh 
ter  with  her  most  radiant  smile. 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  she  said,  looking  up,  and 
Lydia  is  not  short,  "  allow  me  to  congratulate 
325 


JIMTY,  AND  OTHERS 

you.  Mrs.  Pope,  the  next  time  I  see  your 
daughter  I  only  hope  she  won't  have  grown  as 
much  again  as  she  has  since  the  first  time  I 
saw  her."  And  this  wish  was  a  kindly  one,  so 
meant  and  so  accepted. 


THE    END 


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